


Haywired

by 00Wandering_Ghost00



Series: Haywired Circuits [1]
Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: #istilldontknowwhatamidoingwithmylife, 50 Shades of Simlett, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, But it will be funny at least, Captain Snar-coe strikes again, Comedy with darker plot, Complicated Relationships, Corporate Espionage, Corporations, Eventual Romance, Frenemies, Frenemies-to-Lovers, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major Cinnamon Roll to the rescue, Mentions of Mental Illness, Sass, Shameless Smut, Some messed-up shiz, Something probably OOC here and there, Workplace Relationship, also smut, prescription drug addiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-02-03 09:09:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 64,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12745299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/00Wandering_Ghost00/pseuds/00Wandering_Ghost00
Summary: Toronto, 2017. IT specialist John Graves Simcoe is aspiring to get higher on the ladder of his division's hierarchy. With the sudden death of his superior, the perfect opportunity presents itself. At least he thinks so until he meets his new boss, an offish, awkward little man by the name Edmund Hewlett.Together they have to uncover a corporate spy working under their noses, and come to realise that their feelings towards one another aren't composed of hate and anger entirely.Updates on every Friday/Sunday or bi-weekly.





	1. You should be higher...

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again dearest readers!  
> This fic is a collaboration, it was written by me and my friend, who doesn't have an account here. Please forgive any and all mistakes we made, and don't take the fic too seriously, after all it was going to be a sort-of romantic comedy about two guys who hate each other at first then fall in love. ;)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simcoe meets Hewlett. And he's not happy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there!  
> This chapter is in John's POV, and I hope it will not be confusing. We wrote the whole fic like this, one chapter in Simcoe's "head" the other in Hewlett's, respectively.  
> It will be a long one, we still didn't really know how long and where exactly is it going, but I hope you guys will like what we've done, and stay. :) No real trigger warnings for the first chapter, but it will likely change in the future. Have fun ducklings! ^^

 [As usual, the omnipresent collage.](https://sta.sh/01ko26ng8foa)

* * *

 Toronto, 13. March 2017.

Monday morning. I think I'm handling it well. Nothing but a few idiots in traffic, and the usual questions from the higher-ups, approximately two and a half seconds after I entered the office. After telling them off with a few select BS I prepared just for occasions like this, I tossed my leather jacket to the backrest of my chair, and was prepared to get through the most boring Monday of the year. Then I heard some co-workers talking, and it raised my attention. "Did you hear that good old Joyce got retired?" asked one, if my memory's correct, it was Baker from the sales division. "Yes, if by "retired" you mean he had a heart-attack." Wakefield from the legal department answered. I paid attention because they were talking about my boss. Joyce looked sick lately indeed, but him leaving this sad world behind was news to me as well. Baker listened to Wakefield in astonishment, and I even forgot that it was a Monday morning. Curiosity won over my general disdain of my co-workers, and all of humanity, and I found myself walking over to them. "Mornin'!" I greeted them. "Do you happen to know anything about Joyce? He didn't seem to show up today." Wakefield mumbled something about an appointment he had in a second, and left hastily, leaving the startled Baker as my victim. Knowing the effect of my expression, that closely resembled a smile yet it wasn't left on people, I donned it and asked again. "Well?" Baker was looking for a way to escape. "You know..." he started "I didn't really hear much, only that there will be a change of leadership in the IT division. That's all." It didn't convince me, but I couldn't interrogate Baker any further, because he also left to do his daily job. So I followed their example, and went back to work. My dull, useless and stagnant duty was interrupted a few hours later by a low knock on the office door. I raised my head, and saw Baker's face. "CEO gathered a meeting on the second floor in 202. You are needed as well, among all personnel from IT." he said. Since I couldn't resist this kind invitation, I left my computer to its number-crunching. I shall see anyway if the program it was testing has any errors later, when I'll be back. I fixed my shirt and went after Baker. The briefing room on the second floor was clotted with people, many of them isn't even familiar. I frowned, and leaned to the wall, eyeing the crowd, until I saw the face of the only person who was close to be called my friend, so I went over to him. "Hey there!" Akinbode greeted me with a pat on the arm. "There must be something big going on if they dragged you out of your pit." I furrowed my brow. "Why the secrecy?" I asked. "One would think that the higher-ups would at least tell your division about what's up." Akinbode shrugged. Meanwhile the door opened, and all of the firm's figureheads walked in, followed by an unknown face. I had a bad feeling, but I didn't know why yet.  
  
Actually, my mood improved greatly after hearing about Joyce's misfortune. With him out of the picture, I was a very likely candidate to take his position. Given the opportunity, I would surely take the promotion, being in the treadmill for nearly four years. I was good at what I was doing, better than my other colleagues, and I can say it without any hint of narcissism. The company halted and gathered in the centre of the room, with the awkward little man next to the CEO, who started the usual blahblah I wasn't interested in. I was eyeing the forementioned newcomer next to him. Grey, with an average build and a head or more smaller than me (which is- I have to admit - isn't a big thing, since I'm 6 foot 3). His face was interesting...I mean it was interesting that he had _this_ as a face. He was so antipathetic at first sight, but I decided to put him on my proverbial black list after he spoke. He was offish, pompous, and utterly punch-provoking. And he introduced himself - quite lamely if you ask me - as the new leader of the IT division. I think the air in my vicinity cooled a few degrees, because I found myself standing in a big empty circle of people. I just stood there, casually you know, and donned my best horror-movie villain half-smiles, while looking directly at the annoying midget. I listened to him stuttering through his speech, and felt my grudge grow. Let's just stop for a moment to mention his given name. Edmund. Who the bloody hell christens their child as Edmund in the 21st century? And his accent, that made me think he - same as me - isn't from around here. A fellow Englishman maybe... Or rather a Scot. I kept analysing him from the crowd, but came to the same conclusion: I hate his guts. I was deeply in my thoughts and barely noticed Akinbode slithering his way back to me. "Well John, that sucks." he said. "You were supposed to take Joyce's office if something happened, wasn't it like that between you?" I probably looked at him like a tired parent looks at his retarded child, because he turned away, back to our new esteemed head of department, Edmund Hewlett.  
  
The clock kept ticking, and I felt the urge to get out of that damned room getting stronger by the minute. Luckily for me, the meeting ended in the same spontaneity it started, so off I went, back to my office where my other two co-workers were already settling back to continue with their jobs. I seriously felt surprised to see Motlow and Tanner back on their chairs sooner than me. I was standing closest to the door. Maybe they slipped out of the meeting while Mr. Awkwardness was speaking. I had a suspicion about a small group activity after our new boss gets here, so I quickly took a look on my monitor, to see how the program's doing. What I saw didn't make me happy. I have to seriously kick Motlow's ass if he's not going to get himself together until month's end and fix that malfunctioning heap of crap he called a program. I was just about telling him this when the door opened, and Mr. Stuckup walked right in. "Gentlemen, I think it wouldn't be necessary to introduce myself again." he said. "I don't know what else could be said about me I didn't say at the meeting so I ah... Think it's time for you to introduce yourselves."  I was listening to the others' chatter and thought it must be a bad dream. Yes, it can't be anything else. I will be woken up soon by Mercy's paw on my face, and the shrieking sound of the alarm on my phone. I had to be disappointed. Every gaze was on my person, so I cleared my throat, and got done with it. "John Graves Simcoe. Have been in computer science for ten years, working for Howe and Co. for four years. My birthdate, address, shoe-size and other personal information can be found in my file at the HR division." I always hated unnecessary small talk. Especially when I had work to do. With a short nod I went back to do my job, not giving a damn about what Frogface might think about it. It seemed I look forward to another month full of over-hours.  
  
I was deep in a thousand-dollar bugnest, when I got a notification about a mail on both my phone and my computer. The former almost gave me a heart-attack with its loud beep, and I saw the hypnotical and sinister blinking of a yellow envelope icon on the lower left corner of my screen. With a few select curses for this pit I was banished to, disguised as work, I opened the new mail. Of course it was from our esteemed new leader. Well I know nothing good can come from your boss calling you to rendezvous in his office on day one. Not to mention that if the program I was testing on my machine won't run like Usain Bolt on speed in two days, I might find myself in a pit even deeper. With an irritated sigh, I appeared in Hewlett's office. "You called, sir." I said while making an expression that I knew could kill any and all attempts at a conversation in approximately two minutes. Frogface was reading something, so it took a few seconds for him to notice me. "Mr. Simcoe, please take a seat!" he gestured to the chair in front of his desk. I obeyed. He was still diddling around with whatever he was doing for a while before turning to me. "I suppose you are curious about the reason for why I summoned you." Damn right. "I don't want to waste your time, but I would like to state that I do not like to be left behind in the middle of a sentence." What was about that you don't want to waste my time again? "Maybe my predecessor tolerated such transgressions, but I will not." I really wanted to ask if is there a point to this, but I didn't want to push things too far. Not yet. Of course, there was a lecture about patience, and a briefing about expected paperwork and statistics, which I always did anyway, so I didn't pay much attention. But then came the sentence that made my blood freeze. "I will take two of your projects. I see that you are overworked, and spend a lot of your time in the office in after-work. I suppose I could give you a bit of free time with a little re-arranging of tasks." Fuck you, Frogface. Fuck you very-very much. "With respect sir, I can balance my schedule and progress well with all of the projects under my name." I answered in a cold, official tone. "There is no need for reassigning them to an incompetent rookie, who probably will finish it two weeks after deadline, send the program to the client still teeming with bugs and errors, and generate a long complaint management process." Usually, only mentioning the “long complaint management process” was enough to make people think twice about meddling in my business. Sure, I had to admit that my skills in organization wasn’t top-notch, but I could juggle well with what I got. I was determined to fight ‘till the end, and not let this Frog-faced midget degrade me to the level of an intern. “I’m happy that you care about the projects and the good name of the company Mr. Simcoe, and I assure you that I won’t give the work – as you put it – to an incompetent rookie.” He attacked. “And I would like it if you would omit using that phrase. I know you have a serious amount of experience, but that doesn’t justify your degrading manners to your fellow colleagues of lesser skills.” Ouch. “I would also like to inform you, that I merely want to improve the efficiency of the IT division with the rearrangements. It is not a personal attack against you.” I knew that the motto for this day will be “why there wasn’t a shark in your amniotic-fluid?”, but after he finished, I felt my blood-pressure rising to dangerous heights. “According to the latest statistics, our division is the most efficient.” I riposted. “I appreciate your concern sir, but I can handle it. There’s no need for rearrangements. Also, I used the word “incompetent”, because every time someone took my project and gave it to someone else, I ended up with even more work than before, fixing what other people broke.” I watched his reactions, calculated what could I say or do to make him dance to my whistle. With Joyce, it was easy. He seemed to like my nice blue eyes, and who-knows-what, so I could use that to manipulate him, while he always thought that everything was his idea. I loved that game, and after our long introductions, I started to see Hewlett as a challenge. He smiled smugly, and said “Rearrangements are necessary if we want to keep it that way.” I so wanted to punch him. Really, no joke. My fist was itching. “But, seeing you’re so attached to your projects, I have a proposal: You give your two projects away, and in turn, you’ll get a key-position in my own project.” Now that was something I could use. He kept on talking. “I reckon this project could benefit from your level of expertise.” There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Or was it just me? Hewlett handed a document over, and I took it with growing curiosity. The folder was labelled “Bucephalus”. I flipped a few pages in it, and was hooked. I could easily give two boring routine-tasks in change for this. “All right, Mr. Hewlett.” I said. “You convinced me.” I flashed a Mona Lisa-smile at him, then looked back to the folder. “May I ask where did you get the name?” He indulged my curiosity by answering “It was the name of the warhorse of Alexander the Great. And also the name of my own horse I had, back in Scotland. I understand that this name is not easy to memorise or pronounce to the masses, so it is only a draft-name of sorts for the project.” I gave the folder back to him. “I see you like the classics.” I commented, hopefully not as aridly as I thought. I had no intention of listening to a bedtime story about ancient Greek and Roman heroes and conquerors. I might really fall asleep. “If you don’t mind, I still have one project that needs to be finished by deadline.” I said, then waited for him to dismiss me. So far, I couldn’t really grasp what makes our dear new boss tick, but I figured I will find out sooner or later.

The day went by slowly. Numbers. Symbols. Minutes. Hours. If a Monday could be duller, it would be banned from existence. While I was fixing and de-bugging the program running its course on my computer, I kept thinking of Hewlett and his project with the unpronounceable name. It seemed complicated, and I wondered what purpose it could serve. I went home in the evening, not having any more reason and excuse to stay in the office overnight. Shame. I loved working at night, when not a soul was around except the old security guard and yours truly. I could work without anything or anyone interrupting me. I sat on my bike, sighed tiredly and headed home. Mercy let me know with a complaining mewl that she didn’t see me for half a day, and the pile of cat food in her bowl has a hole in it, therefore no longer edible for her. So I fed her, took a shower, then a book and sat down to read. Mercy sat on my lap, because it was an important part of her life to stick her pink little nose into whatever business I was doing. After she fitted herself into the exact middle of the gap between my tailor seated legs, and informed me with loud purring that I will not be standing up until she had her beauty sleep, I returned to my book. After two and a half hours, I was appropriately numb both physically and mentally, so I attempted to go to sleep. Disregarding Mercy’s agitated meowing, I turned off the lights, and dragged myself to bed. My furry flatmate jumped at the empty pillow next to mine, and loafed on it. I ruffled her fur, as sort of saying goodnight, then fell asleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter title is the same as the Depeche Mode song, "Should be higher". You know, me and my lyrical quote quirk. ;D
> 
> Up next: How Edmund saw the first day in his new job...


	2. Hearts and Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day one in the office for Mr. Hewlett.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! We had some technical problems, but now the next chapter is here! ^^

I have to admit that I was hesitating at first, when I was asked to accept this job. The request came so suddenly, like my predecessor’s demise. I had no time to consider the offer. Spontaneity may come naturally to some, but not for me. So, I was still full of doubt when I called Howe and co. to accept their generous offer. If I could have just one month for preparations, I would certainly stand in front of my new would-be colleagues and subordinates with more confidence. As I was eyeing the crowd before me, I felt like someone was about to pierce me with their stare…which probably sounds silly, considering I was speaking in front of a group of people, who were looking at me, not doing so would be considered a rude thing. But the eyes in question had a different sort of gaze: They were staring at me like a predator stares at its prey. I didn’t have to look for the owner of the piercing stare for long, I spotted him among the crowd in the far end of the room. The tall, long-faced, ginger man stood out from the crowd, and kept eye contact with me and made me feel I shouldn’t show any sign of weakness to him, so I held my ground in the staring contest. I had no idea why I felt this way towards that man, but I only felt safe as long as I held his gaze.

Meanwhile I was continuing my speech, trying to get done with it in reasonable means. I shall make another meeting with my direct subordinates, in a more personal manner. Not too personal of course, for I don’t want them to think I’m easy to sweep off my feet. As soon as the more formal part of my morning ended, I was heading to the restrooms. Luckily for me, no one was around, so I permitted myself a tired sigh as I let the water flow from the tap. I washed my face with a handful of cold water, then took a look at my reflection in the mirror. I was way too overdressed… But I remembered clearly, that they insisted on formal clothing when I was discussing the job offer with the firm’s representatives via telephone. I was wearing an Italian suit with matching tie and shirt buttoned to the neck, while many of my would-be colleagues were in jeans and T-shirts. “No.” I told my reflection aloud, being convinced that I was still alone in the room “No Edmund, you can never be ‘overdressed’.” I convinced myself as I recalled my father’s words. My fingers slipped to my signet ring, the one that I got for graduating first of class. I was giving my 100% then, and I intended to do so now. I turned the water off, dried my hands, and headed towards the division I have to lead from now on.

As soon as I opened the door I was in a crossfire of curious looks. Gladly now there were much less people present than they were at the meeting, so my nervousness was significantly less severe. I greeted everyone with a wan, but friendly smile. “Well I think introducing myself one more time would be unnecessary, so…” I got stuck in the middle of my speech, but concealed it with a cough “How about you introduce yourselves now?” As I finished my sentence I spotted Mr. Piercing Stare. Despite his presence, the introductions went smoothly. I tried to memorize every name and personal information my subordinates were willing to share with me. I did it because on one hand, I had a firm belief that a good leader should have this basic knowledge about his co-workers, and on the other I intended to win their hearts and minds over with this gesture. Sounds a little calculating? I admit it might. But I wanted to create an ideal working environment, founded on mutual respect and trust. My intentions were pure and good. After we were done with necessary protocol, I felt like I successfully communicated my expectations and rules to the crew. I thought I was confident enough to make all of them understand, that I am strict, but just in my judgement. Well, all of them except for Mr. Simcoe, who vacated my vicinity as soon it was possible. I didn’t even have a chance to stop him and tell him that I’m not finished yet. I shall have a little chat with him later.

And after I settled in my office, I could finally start to work… And notice what a mess my predecessor left behind. Most of my day was spent on correcting his errors. God, I hate disorder. If my understanding of written text hasn’t fail me, there were three major projects under the same individual’s name. Three. A few more clicks and I even managed to find out who was said individual. Of course, I immediately started to think on how should I solve this chaos. Two hours later, I had a decent plan. I sent an e-mail to Simcoe, summoning him to my office.

When he entered, I was in the middle of a file, and I wanted to finish it, so I only glanced at him, as acknowledging his presence. “Mr. Simcoe, please take a seat!” I gestured towards the chair in front of my desk, and he did as I asked. I spent a few more minutes with my work before turning towards him with my full attention. “I suppose you’re curious why I summoned you, and I do not wish to waste your time.” I started. “First of all, I would like to inform you that I don’t like when someone walks away mid-sentence from me.” He rolled his eyes, but didn’t say a word. “Maybe my predecessor tolerated these kind of transgressions, but I will not. And since you left us while your colleagues were introducing themselves, you missed when I expressed my rules and expectations towards them. So I’m willing to repeat it, only for you.” I said, while trying to lighten my strict tone up with a little smile. “I’d like everyone to arrive ten minutes earlier to the office before the official start of the day, so we can start without any delay. Ten minutes should be enough for preliminary organizing and checking things before work, increasing our efficiency. Another thing I noticed, is that many of you are behind with documentation. I will personally check on everyone to be sure that all necessary statistics and reports should be done at the end of each day. Otherwise… I’d just expect you to adhere to workplace policies.” I paused because I forgot for a moment, why was I wanting to see him so badly. Then I remembered. “And I wanted to inform you that I will take two of your projects from you. As far as I know, you are way too overworked, staying in the office for after-hours all the time. With a little rearrangement, I can free you enough time to focus on one program.” I gave him a reassuring smile, and was waiting for his response, which I was certain to be positive. After all, who wouldn’t be glad to get rid of a burden?

I was in for a big disappointment. His intense resistance against my decision surprised me. Rearranging projects would do him a favour, besides it would greatly increase our effectivity. The latter made me determined not to let go of what I planned. “I’m glad that you care about the projects and the good name of the company, Mr. Simcoe.” I said. “And I assure you that I won’t give the work – as you put it – to an incompetent rookie. And I would like it if you would omit using that phrase. I know you have a serious amount of experience, but that doesn’t justify your degrading manners to your fellow colleagues of lesser skills. I would also like to inform you, that I merely want to improve the efficiency of the IT division with the rearrangements. It is not a personal attack against you.” I tried to hit a friendly but strict tone which seemed to only add oil to the fire.

He defended his point by citing statistics about the division’s effectivity while kept on piercing my skin with his ice cold stare. There was something creepy about that man, or at least in the calculating gaze he cast on everyone around him. He lowered his eyes and promised not to use derogatory terms for his co-workers anymore, which I felt was dishonest. Regardless, I continued with what I wanted to say. “I know about the statistics Mr. Simcoe, and I plan to keep them at their current state, or higher.” I nodded reassuringly for his comment. “That is why rearrangements are necessary. And I see that you want to hold on to your extra projects, how about I make a deal with you?” He looked at me with suspicion mixed with curiosity, so I continued. “If you give the extra two projects up willingly, I let you work on my personal one. It may be too early to make promises, but I reckon the project would benefit from your level of expertise.” My face probably turned to the expression my brother only defined as a “passive-aggressive smile”. I couldn’t really grasp the core of my disdain towards that man, but I figured it has a lot to do with his arrogance. I took a file out from one of the drawers, I already moved my more important documents in, and gave it over to Simcoe. He flipped a few pages, and I saw some honest interest on his features, and when he gave the document back to me, he asked me about the name of the project. I told him that Bucephalus was Alexander the Great’s warhorse, and also the name of my beloved horse, from my younger days. He commented on my taste concerning literature, and reminded me that I might ought to change the name of the project before publication. He was right, not many people could pronounce or remember the current one. However, I felt satisfied with the turn of the events, and after letting Simcoe go on his merry way, I returned to my own work. I found a batch of interesting files I could not identify. It was among the remnants of my predecessor’s personal logs and documents, and I thought I might figure them out later, so I copied everything to a flash drive. Monday was about to end for me, as well for my subordinates, and after putting my new office under lock and key, I was heading home.

I wanted to take a look into the strange files with only letters and a row of numbers as identification, but I felt exhausted from both the relocation, the time difference and my stressful introductions with my new colleagues. I once again had to realise the emptiness and space of my house, but sadly all attempts I made in relationships failed badly so far. No, I mean once it almost worked, but… Oh well. Presently, I had no one to share the space with me besides my book collection and telescope. I made some dinner, had a relaxing bath, then went to sleep. At least I didn’t have to think about the silence and loneliness, while I was dreaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: John just being himself, making life a living hell for everyone around him.


	3. Screwing Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simcoe tries to drive Hewlett insane with his usual shenanigans. Also, he gets tasked by his new boss to help him crack the encryption on the mysterious files he found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the story starts to be interesting. I promise! Also, sorry again for the long delays, but sadly I can't say they will shorten any time soon, for my co-writer has a very time consuming job, and I might join her soon. (Root for me? ) ^^; I hope we can make at least one of you guys out there smile at our silly attempts at a funny story. No real warnings, maybe a few cursewords here or there. Have fun!

Also, for the ones who are interested in it, here's the fic's [playlist.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL0kTwJffd-LESSZl945znfTgGhWA0RPmj)

* * *

 

Tuesday morning. Mercy attempted an assassination on me at least twice. Once, when I was brushing my teeth, and she almost knocked down that dry weed one of my exes left on the top of my medicine cabinet on me, and once when I was about to leave for work, and she just wanted to brush herself against my leg I was putting most of my weight on while putting on my shoe. It was only my ungodly luck I didn’t fall over, which is pretty funny considering our significant size and weight difference, but it caught me off-guard. After I told her my opinion about her ancestors being stray, she cast me an offended glance, and occupied the sofa. I was off to work, and arrived approximately five minutes later to the parking lot. I checked in, took the stairs – in my opinion, this amount of physical activity was a minimum in my field of work. I never took the elevator. However, I felt my legs hurt when I reached the floor where the offices of the IT division were. I decided to find a decent marathon in the near future and enlist, to get used to more activity. I arrived at least twenty minutes earlier (Frogface would be proud), so I could finish yesterday’s paperwork and all that nuisance. By the time His Majesty marched – for he didn’t walk, he marched, and in the corners he didn’t just simply turn, but in a royal amphibian way – towards his office, I was doing my regular day job. I watched over until he disappeared behind his door.

Most of the day went by as usual. I mean brain-rottingly boring. Around lunchtime, I got a call from Wakefield, that one of their computers was broken, so they needed assistance. So I took my faithful toolkit and went one level up. At least until I finished with the thing. I have to admit that I never liked the guys upstairs. They were the corporation’s lawyers, the ones that made sure Howe&Co. gets away with whatever they've been accused of. Wakefield was waiting for me, showing which one of their overused machines decided to rebel. I passed a small bloke with a weasel’s face I remembered seeing sometimes in the cantina on ground level. He was on the phone, discussing whatever problem his client was burdening him with. I unplugged the dead computer, while listening to Wakefield’s rendition of the events prior to the malfunction of it. “Woodhull was using this one, but since it’s broken, I assigned him to an unoccupied one.” he finished. Seeing my confused face he pointed at Mr. Weasel. “Newbie. Talented lawyer, but sometimes I wonder who ties his shoes.” Wakefield summarized his opinion about his colleague. I glanced again at the greasy-haired midget in the middle of explaining something to the person at the other end of the line. “Are you sure it’s not a software problem?” I turned back to Wakefield. “It pretty much sparkled and smoked before going completely black.” he replied. “So I’m absolutely sure.” I leaned down and tried to free the computer case from its frame under the desk, but something was blocking it. I sighed, and picked the small, wrinkled piece of paper that was stuck between the case and the frame. There was writing on it, but I just shoved it in my pocket, thinking about throwing it away later. I freed the case, and checked the other parts of the equipment before returning to my office with my load of work. I hated hardware-errors. They meant a huge mess I had to clean up before leaving. Also, there was a software I still had to test and de-bug until deadline, so I was about neck-deep in work. In my honest opinion, it was understandable in this case that I ignored the beep of my phone, indicating I got a message. Something was very wrong with that computer, the case wouldn’t open, even after I removed the screws… Or more precisely, there was a pair of screws that were looked like they were tampered with. I muttered a curse, and tried to open the case with a different tool. My pocket kept buzzing, so I threw my phone out to my desk. Whoever you are, I’m busy. I turned my full attention to my work, so I didn’t notice a certain man with an interesting facial structure standing next to me. “Excuse me!” I heard his majesty, the frog prince speaking. I lifted my head and stared at him. He held my phone with at least sixty messages up and wagged it in front of my face. Okay, I might exaggerate a tad. There were only fifty-five messages from him. “I expect my co-workers to respond if I call them.” I closed my eyes, counted to ten and reminded myself that prison uniform looks bad on me. “My bad sir, I was occupied with my task.” I replied. Hewlett was squinting at me with suspicion. "Just what on Earth are you doing?" he asked, pointing at my trusted screwdriver I kept stabbing that thrice-goddamn case with. "Didn't you know?" I answered. "It's Screwday." He looked so confused I could barely bite back a smile. "Screwday?" he repeated. "Yea, like in screw this, screw that, screw you..." I recited, while carrying on with my work. I guess he took the insult as planned, because he became just as red as his jacket. I knew I might get in trouble, but I couldn’t help it. He had that effect on me. That holier-than-thou plonker whose very existence fuelled my wrath. “Right. If you’re finished with this – I’m sure very important – task, I would like you to come over to my office.” he ordered me. “Yes, sir.” I answered mechanically. I didn’t notice when he left.

Nor did I care. I managed to open the case, and found a complete mess inside. The smell of burned electrical cords and molten plastic lingered in the air, indicating that there’s nothing I can do besides getting out the hard drive and see what can I save from the documents this Woodhull fellow was working on, along with the countless interns who got access to this useless piece of rubbish. I was in for another surprise when I connected the hard drive of the dead computer to my live one, and tried to access it. Its contents were wiped clean. I mean… No, I will not bore you with technical details, but I knew it was tampered with. Since I was the one authorized with the termination or storage of corporate data, or the ones I assign to it, and I clearly didn’t format or otherwise destroy the contents of that machine, it had to be someone else. Now I only wanted to know why. My eyes wondered to my – again buzzing – phone and to the small, crumpled paper note I threw on my desk along with it. I checked the message – it was from Hewlett again, reminding me to get my arse to his office ASAP – and for an unexplainable urge, I took the note and unfolded it. The handwriting was unfamiliar, and it was only a row of numbers, and some letters. Like a code. But for what? It was way too complicated to be someone’s password, and corporate privacy policy forbade employees to keep any codes written down anywhere accessible. My phone buzzed again, and I shoved the note back into my pocket, and like a good dog, I appeared at my master’s office door. “You called, sir.”

He was diddling again with something on his computer, so he just gestured towards me to come in. I thought it to be a cautious move to close the door. Who knows what kind of lecture he was about to give me, and I sure as hell didn’t want any of my co-workers to hear. I waited patiently until he finished with whatever he was doing, as I did yesterday. I started to think that this is some kind of a game he’s playing. My eyes wandered to the big motivational poster behind him that he must had installed today, for it wasn’t there the last time, or as far as I can remember. It was a typography of sorts; you know the kind of people put up on Pinterest… Or similar sites I don’t visit. Big letters, smaller letters, all entwined forming the motto of “Law, Order, Authority”. Mate, seriously?! I think I rolled my eyes out loud, ‘cause Hewlett peeked out from behind his monitor and gestured me to get beside him. “I wanted to show you something.” he said. I stood up, and went over next to him. My blood froze in my veins. Hewlett was looking at a pageful of those strange codes assigned to encrypted files. Now I knew what he was diddling with when I came in. He tried to break the encryption, but failed. “I uh…”  he began to explain, scratching the back of his head “…found these among Mr. Joyce’s documents, and since I know you’re good at code-breaking, I wanted to ask you to help me with decoding these.” he looked at me, was thinking for a second then added “After your tasks are done, of course, I wouldn’t want to burden you with another load while you’re still knee deep in work.” I felt the same urge that always took hold on me, ever since I saw him. I wanted to punch him in the face. “Thank you for being considerate, sir.” I answered, hoping my sarcasm doesn’t show. “I actually wanted to report something to you with regards of your encrypted files.” He seemed surprised. “What would it be?” he asked. “Today I got a call from the legal department reporting a malfunctioning computer, the one I was working on when you came to see me about your messages.” I told him. He nodded, and gestured for me to continue. “The computer is burned out, so I already sent it down to the basement to be disposed of. Its hard drive however, seem to be tampered with.” Hewlett squinted at me while clenching his jaw before asking “And what does it have to do with these codes?” I sent a triumphant smile at him, and gave him the piece of paper. And barely could keep a straight face when he fished out an old fashioned magnifier from his desk to look at it.

“I wonder who is responsible for the termination of all data on that hard drive, and leaving this note behind in the legal department.” I said, and frankly I had a suspect already. Wakefield told me that the new guy used that computer. Of course, that doesn’t mean anything, but good for a start. I thought I will suggest questioning that Woodhull lad. “That is indeed very peculiar.” Hewlett said, putting the magnifier down. “By your leave, I would like to conduct an inquiry, beginning with the legal department.” I suggested, keeping eye contact which he broke, while taking a sip from his mug sitting next to his computer. “Very well.” he answered. I was about to turn around and leave when he added “But tread lightly!” “Lightly?” I echoed, not sure what he meant by that. But to my ever growing frustration, he elaborated. “It is a very sensitive matter. The corporation’s going through some major changes, and any mistake could easily backfire on us. We must not antagonize our fellow colleagues, but should win the battle for their hearts and minds.” It started to cause me physical pain to hold my sarcastic comments inside. I did it however,and only answered with “I intend to. Believe me.” and was about to leave once again, when he stopped me, before I could reach the door. “And please don’t forget, that you’re needed here after lunchtime. You’ll be given a new task.” I nodded and left his office, to get back to my tedious and boring work.

After finding a nest of bugs and errors again in the program I was testing, I thought I really need something to eat…or drink. Sadly, the latter could be only composed of non-alcoholic matter, so soothing my tense nerves that way had to wait until work is over. I stood in queue, bought my whatever-was-on-the-menu-today, and fished out a pill bottle from my pocket. I was staring at it for a while before opening it and sending a blue and yellow one down with a draught of orange juice. I needed to focus. I saw Woodhull talking with Baker at the table across from mine. I tried to figure out what they’ve been talking about, but there was too much background noise. I turned my attention back to my food, when a shadow was cast on it. “Oh my, John!” I heard a voice I could successfully avoid for four years. “I never thought I’d see you here!” I looked up and forced myself to be friendly. “Hello John!” I greeted him too. “Long time no see indeed.” As much as I hoped that the ever-near-perfect, playboy head of the corporation’s public relations office, a man by the name of John André would never sink down to our level, I had to endure his presence again. I was absolutely certain that he feels the same way. I was in for a disappointment, because he sat to my table. “It was your first year here, at the Christmas-party.” he reminded me of one of the most embarrassing evening of my life. I suppose I’m not that different from anybody in the sense that I hate having flashbacks of things I don’t want to remember, so I found myself sighing and apologizing. “Listen John, I was drunk and pretty stressed, and almost got fired, so it’s not something I’d want to talk about.” I surprised even myself. André just flashed one of his hundred-Watt smiles at me, and didn’t press the matter…Press, you know? Public relations? Okay, I shall stop my attempts at being humorous. “And what brought you here, among us mere mortals?” I asked, to break the awkward silence. “Actually I forgot my things at my girl’s this morning, so I’m running on a little gift from Cooke. You know, he’s the…” “Head of the sales division.” I finished his sentence. I knew who Cooke was. “I’m positively surprised to see you without anything that could be used as a weapon.” he attacked, and I took the challenge. “As I said, I was drunk. And I doubt that I could seriously harm anyone with a plastic knife.” André’s smile got wider, and the pain in my head got stronger. “According to your prison record, you could kill anyone with a teaspoon.” Is that concrete in my stomach? And who the bloody hell put a ball in my throat? “What do you mean?” I forced my best faux-innocent tone and unsuspecting expression on, hoping I’m still that good in deceiving like I was on day one. André put down his fork gracefully - seriously, how can a person always be that perfect, it’s not normal! – and with that annoying, punch-provoking smile still on his face, he told me “You were kept because Joyce was there and covering your fuckups.” Even his curses were flawless. “But now he’s gone, and I just wanted you to know, that I will be watching, and waiting, and I will be very happy if you screw up once again so spectacularly.” he raised his glass of water, like he was telling a toast. My head was about to explode, so I took the bottle, and took another pill. “I learned from my mistakes.” I commented aridly. André raised his brow. “Well, it’s good to hear I guess. Especially for your new superior. By the way, how are you get along with Mr. Oyster?” I was confused. “I beg your pardon?” André elaborated. “We call him Oyster behind his back, because of his habit of hiding in his office with the doors open. Like the oyster, which leaves its shell open to breathe. And shuts it if you get too close.” I smiled, but my nerves were still tense. “Oyster. How fitting.” thank whatever higher power, he stopped forcing me to converse with him, but before leaving, he patted my shoulder and said goodbye with “See you at Joyce’s funeral!”

I guess it’s no wonder I was in a pretty foul mood after returning to my office. Tanner was on his way to ask me something, but I swear I never saw a man change course that fast like he did after spotting me. Ever. I sent the malfunctioning program back to Motlow with the ultimatum, that he either fixes it himself, and on time, or I will be forced to physically insult him, and tell his mother that he collects small plastic figures looking like girls with over exaggerated eyes and lady parts. I almost forgot about Hewlett, but then he reminded me by sending me a text message. I almost jumped out of my skin when my phone started to buzz in my pocket. I exclaimed in surprise, but quickly looked around. No one saw, no one heard. Good. I rushed into Mr. Oyster’s office, while trying to prepare myself for whatever torment he had in mind for me. He was still trying to break the encryption on his files, and when he stood up I saw that he really needed a break from it. “Did you succeed in questioning the personnel at the legal department?” he asked tiredly. “Sorry sir, but I had no chance to question them yet.” I answered. “I was about to do so, but you ordered me to your office.” Hewlett nodded. “Yes, the new task I was about to give to you…” he mumbled, then gave me a flash drive. “Break the encryption on these. Find out what is it, and you may start your investigation. Until then, do your daily work, like we found nothing. You are obligated to keep the contents of that flash drive a secret as long as I don’t say otherwise. Understood?” I glanced down to the tiny piece of plastic and metal that contained so much important information, then back to Hewlett. “Understood.” I echoed. 

So that’s how it was possible for me to spend even my evening with work. I got a call not long before I wrapped up for today, from my sometimes-drinking-partner, and he wanted to meet me at our usual pub. I agreed, went home, took a shower, changed and went off to continue working on my laptop. My headache got worse, so I took that damn pill box with me as well. I sat down in one of the darker corners of the pub, where I could see both the decorative barmaid and the people who came in, and cracked my knuckles. Let’s break that encryption! I was neck-deep in it, when Akinbode arrived, sitting across me. “Don’t tell me you want to work even here!” he said with clear umbrage in his voice. I glanced at him from behind my laptop, and continued with my job while answering. “It’s something big this time.”  The unbelieving shake of his head prompted me to stop the coding and close the program. “Sorry.” he said “It’s just… you said that it was something big the last time. And the time before that. And all turned out to be something insignificant.” I took a pill, and flushed it with a shot of whiskey. This evening started to look a lot like fuck it all. “They are seriously screwing you over.” he said. “Tell me something I don’t know!” I commented between another pill and another draught of undiluted alcohol. Akinbode was silent for a while, then he decided to keep hitting my wounds. “I’d hate to be intrusive John, but what are those pills you take?” “Anti-depressants” I answered flatly. “mixed with sedatives and painkillers.” I didn’t look at him. I always knew what anyone wanted to say after I told them this. “You know; people take painkillers if they’re in pain.” “Oh, I am in pain!” I exclaimed. “You’re a pain in my ass right now. What, you decided to be my mother? Thanks love, but no need.” I wasn’t intended to be this rude, but usually that was the only way to make them shut up. “You should stop taking these.” I admired his tenacity, but it really started to annoy me. “This box of pills, and a bottle of whiskey is what keeps me from taking hostages at work.” I said as calmly as I was able to. “Then maybe you’re in the wrong field of work.” he replied. I flashed a smile at him, drank my whiskey I already paid for, then took my laptop and went home without saying goodbye. I was mad, but at the same time knew he was only trying to help me. At home, I worked until my eyelids stuck together and all I could hear was Mercy’s low, hypnotic purring. I packed the laptop and everything, then went to bed. I felt quite pathetic. Gladly, my self-esteem issues were taken care of by my generous batch of sedatives and alcohol. I could barely wake up the next morning, but still made it in time to the office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Joyce's funeral, and Hewlett's discoveries regarding his new co-workers.
> 
> \- "plonker" is a synonym for "idiot". Be prepared for a synonymfest, for John knows hell of a lot for a load of words, and his chapters will be full of them.  
> \- The dialogue between Hewlett and Simcoe was borrowed from TURN's season 1 episode 7 (I forgot the title), and altered to fit the fic's narrative.  
> \- "This box of pills and a bottle of whiskey is what keeps me from taking hostages" is a line borrowed from the tv-show titled "The Job". I just thought it to be perfect for John to say. :D
> 
> Thank you for reading, kudos and comments are always welcome, but not mandatory. :)


	4. Calm Before The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hewlett has to reconsider his initial views on some people he works with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello there!  
> The following chapter will have a lot of warnings, including mourning processes, alcohol, implications of someone's sexuality (that differs from given historical person's original), and different character dynamics than in the tv-series. Cursewords also appear here or there, but if you've been sticking around with me this long, you probably won't be surprised by that. :)  
> (Also, the story is written solely by me from now, with some ideas given by my friend, who is too busy to continue, at least for now. That might change in the future, and I'll let you know if it does.)  
> Have fun!

The Tuesday following my tiresome first day was starting a lot better. Seemed like everyone understood my terms, and arrived dead on time, myself included. I remembered the names of some of them, and they even smiled back, as I wished them a good day, and went into the peace and quiet of my office. I didn’t plan to get out of there for long. As I continued my work going through the files of the former leader, I found another batch of those strange, encrypted ones with the two letters and a row of numbers. Curiosity forced me to try and figure out the encryption. It was nothing like any kind of coding I ever saw. I spent quite a lot of time trying to crack it, but failed. As much as I tried to avoid it, I had no other choice than to call Simcoe and ask for his help.

But he didn’t answer his phone. Ohwell. I continued with another method, but hours passed without yielding any results. And Simcoe was still not answering. Being somewhat frustrated with my vain efforts on both being a boss and being a code-breaker, I went out to seek help. And there he was, tinkering with a dead computer. I tried to get his attention with sending another message, but found his mobile buzzing and blinking on the far end of his desk. Before my blood-pressure could get any higher, I went over to Simcoe and told him to pick up his phone next time, and may he grace my office with his presence somewhere after lunchtime. I left him after a rather embarrassing banter. I don’t know what that man was thinking. He was getting on my nerves, and I didn’t like it. I wanted to create a pleasant work-environment, and his antics weren’t helping. I met the head of the sales department while waiting for my coffee to brew in the kitchen, and we were talking a bit. I heard a little bit ‘o this-and-that about Joyce, and about the sales division. Cooke seemed like a nice fellow, and apparently everyone shared my frustration with Simcoe. “The best of his shenanigans was at the last party, somewhere around last October.” Cooke told me with a wide smile. He looked around, but there was nobody around except the two of us. “What did he do?” I asked, afraid of what I was about to hear. Cooke laughed, and shook his head. “Well, you see he got ridiculously drunk, and told the CEO it was obvious that his enlargement pills are working, because he’s twice the dick he was yesterday. I quoted as it was said. Priceless.” He continued to chuckle. I seriously didn’t understand how could a horrible person like Simcoe stay in office after all the atrocious acts he committed. “Joyce liked him.” Cooke told me with a shrug. “And the higher-ups liked Joyce, so his shit was tolerated. Not any longer, if you ask me, though.” After Cooke left me with my coffee, I returned to my office, and took a break from coding. I brought my favourite decal from home, and asked a little help from management with installing it to my wall.

My office seemed much more like home after our work was done. I thanked the facility management people, and went back to try and de-code the files that kept popping up all over that old machine. Just what was this Joyce doing? Why he kept these encrypted files? And what if it’s a virus? I ran the application, but the anti-virus found nothing. I ran another one from an outside source, and that also yielded the same result. I left the damned thing again, to fetch my lunch I intended to eat somewhere outside. That’s how I found that friendly looking pub I thought I take a closer look of. I ran into the barmaid and owner of the place, a charming lady by the name of Anna. Much to my sadness, she informed me that they aren’t open yet, their business hours began about two hours after my lunch break. I bid her farewell, and decided to visit the pub one weekend. After I returned to my office with my bounty of a ham sandwich and an apple, I met someone else in the elevator. It was a small young man, seemingly nervous. I greeted him, and we talked for a while. So that’s how I met Mr. Abraham Woodhull, son of the famous Long Island judge, who moved to Canada after a political scandal. It was fascinating, especially because he also seemed to know about my family. It was not much of a surprise though, my oldest brother being a lawyer himself. 

After I got back to my office, I resumed to trying and breaking the code, but still couldn’t figure out how. After I called Simcoe for the hundredth time, he finally deigned to appear. “You called sir.” Why, oh why does he have to be so creepy? His voice only would be enough to make me shudder, and definitely not in a good way. I gestured towards him, to come inside, and he was surprisingly patient while I was trying to figure out another method of decoding the files. I gave up, and showed him the whole thing. I could see the cogwheels turning inside his head, as he was running through all the material displayed on my monitor. I gave him a curious look, then explained how I found these. He showed me a piece of paper, and told me about a mysteriously damaged computer I remembered him tinkering with. He wanted to investigate the case, and I had a feeling that it can’t end well. Still, he volunteered for a task I would otherwise need to assign someone to do. I agreed in the end, but warned him to be careful, not to lose the trust of our fellow co-workers, but to win their hearts and minds. He answered with “I intend to. Believe me.” but somehow his words sounded empty, flat…fake. I reminded him to come back to me after he’s done with whatever he was doing. I had to admit to myself, that something fascinated me about that man. I mean, in a way that a curious insect or animal would fascinate a scientist. Simcoe had that unsettling, creepy aura, that prompted everyone to be on the edge around him, and he really seemed to enjoy it. I wondered what childhood trauma made him to develop this as a coping mechanism, if that was the case at all. I also had to admit that psychology is not really my field of interest, all I knew was some bits I picked up from my older brothers, one of them, as I already mentioned, a lawyer, and the other is… well, let’s say he was a curious case himself. The day ended with Simcoe coming back, and I gave him the flash drive I saved everything to. I could only hope that he comprehends the importance of the matter, and more importantly, the measure of discretion needed. I remember touching his hand as he took the small device from mine, and the strange sensation it left. I don’t know what was I expecting. Cold, dead hands maybe, but they were anything but.

The next few days passed by slowly. I heard rumours about more malfunctions, and some complaints about Simcoe being unbearable, and I tried my best to keep things smooth. He didn’t make my job easy though. But at least he was going well with the decryption. He still didn’t know what was inside the files, but he told me he found out how to decode them. “It’s only a matter of days.” he said. I was sceptic, but I wanted to give him a chance. I let him do his job, and was focusing on mine. But every time I laid my head to sleep, I found myself thinking about the former leader of the IT division, and his encrypted files. It has to be something important, but also something personal. I hoped to find out soon.

I didn’t know much about my predecessor, besides being a messy person and too gullible concerning the machinations of a certain young man with fiery hair and icy eyes. Yet on his funeral, I found myself feeling some degree of respect for the late Charles Joyce. Not a small amount of said respect was thanks to the aforementioned angry young man’s speech. I never knew Joyce was such an altruistic figure, and that he had a special connection with Simcoe, but the story was fascinating, and I admit that I found it inspiring as well. John stood in front of the coffin, with Motlow, Tanner, Odell and Falkoff beside him, and it struck me. _They_ were the IT division. No matter that I was appointed to be their superior, the four men standing on each opposite side of their late boss and his favourite, never seemed to accept me as such. They looked like a mafia family. Simcoe said his farewells on his ear piercing voice that lacked the usual lilt, and sounded much deeper. He kept his speech short, and left the scene with his lackeys, and considering that I was the head of their division, I thought I should stop them. But I found myself unable to. What I saw on his face struck me, for it was so uncommon. The sarcastic, unfeeling, inconsiderate brute had grief etched into his features. This was the first time I was thinking to myself that I might be wrong about John Simcoe. I excused myself from the ceremony as well, while the coffin was lowered into the ground. My heart sank, for I saw no Mrs. Joyce, or any other close relatives. It was all business associates and far-away friends. I walked back to my car, and called John’s number. He hung me up, so I texted him, inquiring his whereabouts. He texted an address back, and a small note that read “If you want to join.” I drove to the address, which turned out to be a bar, half-empty because of the early business hour. “You shouldn’t…” I started, but one look from that pair of icy-blue eyes silenced me. John had a glass of gin mixed with orange juice in front of him, and an empty glass that indicated it wasn’t the first. The other four members of the IT division were nowhere near. I sat down beside him, and ordered a glass of red wine, calling it a day. “John, I just wanted you to know that I’m here if you want to talk.” I said after a long pause. He glanced over to me, and gave me one of his mysterious half-smiles. But he remained silent for most of the afternoon. I was just about finishing my wine and leave via taxi, when he finally spoke. “He saved me you know.” I turned back to face him, and sat back to my barstool. “Joyce.” John continued without me asking him to. “I was 21, when we met for the first time. He seemed like a juicy target, business suit and all…” I had no idea what John meant by “target”, but I thought I might ask him about it later, if he will not elaborate. He didn’t. “Joyce got me out from that bad place, where I was for almost all of my life.” he sighed and took a sip from his third or fourth orange-and-gin. “He had another “John” before me, did you know?” he said, and I was just shaking my head. I knew nothing about Joyce, and it started to make me feel ashamed. Simcoe took another sip, and continued. “He died of cancer a year before I met Joyce.” I had a suspicion about where the story was heading, but I wanted to let him say it. “He helped me with my studies, and even hired me to Howe  & Co.” John’s long index finger played a rhythm-less tune on his glass. “I’m sorry for your loss.” I managed to say, which prompted him to laugh at me on a dry, humourless tone. “Loss? I was manipulating him.” he said, the fake smile vanishing from his face. “I always knew he fancied me, and I used it.” I found myself in a defensive state. “Listen John, since Joyce is dead, I will surely not make a big deal out of your affair with your former boss… If that is what you are implying.” His laugh made me feel like a fool again. “No, no I haven’t slept with him. Though I knew he wouldn’t protest if I’d want to. But it’s against my policy. And since I was working for him, I told him that it couldn’t be. No matter, he was still treating me like I had a special place in his heart… And I just went and turned it against him.” I was sure that I hear self-loathing at the end of that sentence. It was a feeling I myself knew all too well. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.” I tried to lighten his mood up, but failed. “These are facts.” I heard him say. Somehow his confession surprised and confused me. Firstly, because I never would suspect him to be attracted to his own gender, secondly because he spoke freely about manipulating and using his superior. What was wrong with this man? And when did he get under my skin this much? I didn’t remember when did I use his given name for the first time for addressing him, instead of my usual, more official manner. I said goodbye to him, and went home, to sleep off the effects of red wine and a perplexing personality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Snakes in the Garden, a.k.a. what is Abraham up to?


	5. Interrupt Nr.1: Snakes in the Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mini-chapter about what's going on behind the scenes. There will be more like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm... How do I put it? We thought there might be some things that needed to be introduced in the story, but couldn't be written in one of the protagonists' point of view. So this one is the first in the three or four "Interrupt" chapters, that are written in third person. I hope it won't be distracting, or won't break the flow of the story. If it does, or you feel it doesn't really work for you, please do tell in a comment!  
> Have fun!

Abraham was worried. Ever since he deleted everything he could from his computer. Though he was sure he was thorough, he always feared that someone might follow the trails back to him. He saw that walking lamppost by the name of Simcoe looking into his broken machine, and later asking questions from everyone. Abe needed help before that cutthroat hound catches him. He knew the only person, who could make contact with the courier he always sent the information to. After the funeral, where everyone pretended to be mourning, he went to Anna’s pub. “What’ll it be?” he heard her, and immediately felt better. “How about a signal?” he asked. Anna nodded her head towards her office, and asked the teenage boy of colour to take her place at the bar. After the office door closed behind them, Abe said “I don’t have information this time, rather in need of it.” Anna raised her brow. “About what?” “The big dogs at Howe&Co. know something. They sent their goon after me, and he’s good at hacking things. I might need assistance or a decoy.” Abraham answered. Anna went closer, and held his hand. “Just calm down! I’ll tell the guys you’re compromised, and they’ll get you out from there.” Abe sat down to Anna’s desk, and was thinking for a while. “No.” He said. “No, that would be too obvious. They are suspecting something, but I don’t know how much they know. I might be able to confuse or misinform them.” he paused and gazed at his partner. “But I will need your help.” Anna seemed surprised. “Mine?” she already helped him, he knew that. “I have a plan, and it might give us enough answers to provide information for our superiors, and help us keep an eye on our enemy.” Abe explained. “Do you know a guy named Simcoe?” Anna frowned. “Unfortunately yes. He frequents the pub, along with Abby’s boyfriend. You know, my former bouncer.” “Couldn’t you be a little friendly with him, to know how much he knows?” Abe asked, but Anna immediately shook her head. “No way. That creep is already too friendly with me; I don’t want to add oil to the fire.” Abe sighed. “Shame. He seems to be asking too many questions. Like he’s investigating something, and I want to know what.” Anna made a frustrated groan. “All right. I’ll see what I can do.” Abraham’s face lighted up. “Anna, can you arrange things for you to be the one providing the drinks for Howe&Co.’s teambuilding party?” She was thinking for a while, but nodded. “It’s possible, yes. When will it be?” “In a week or so. In early April.” Abe answered. “I will make sure that they will find many distractions until then.”  

So he did everything he could. Installing a bug in Hewlett’s office, copying classified corporate data when no one was looking, and making sure Simcoe has a lot of hardware problems to work on. Abe felt he did a decent job misleading and keeping the more important personnel of the corporation out of his business. He also knew what to say or do to cover his tracks. One thing he didn’t count with though, was simple grudge against his person. He felt the piercing stare of Simcoe’s glacier-blue eyes even when he was nowhere near. He heard his annoying falsetto in the background. He bumped into him in the cantina, in the restroom, in the kitchen, the corridor and while taking the stairs to go down to the lobby. The man was everywhere, asking questions, and putting pieces of the puzzle together, which made Abraham brew a plan for distracting him. “I know you’re up to something.” He heard that unnerving voice, and turned around to face its owner. “Just what on Earth are you talking about?” he asked, trying his best to look innocent. They were in the crowded lobby, just in front of the entrance. “You may fool Hewlett and the other bigheads, but I know the game you’re playing.” Simcoe said, leaning down a bit just to be more intimidating than he already was. “Oh really?” Abe grinned nervously. “And what is it if I may ask?” Simcoe also flashed a smile that made Abraham think of a wolf’s snarl. “It seems to me that you like to cause trouble.” he commented. “And I know you were erasing and copying data from everywhere you shouldn’t stick your nose into.” Abe blinked, nearly breaking his faux-calmness. “I don’t know what makes you think that.” Simcoe grabbed him by his shirt and whispered “I saw you sneaking around.” he continued on his regular tone. “It makes someone wonder how can a busy law-intern afford that much free time to be literally everywhere in the building, don’t you think?” Abe tried to get the significantly larger man’s hands off his neck in vain. “I’m running errands for Cooke.” he protested. “Sure you are.” Simcoe nodded mockingly. He shoved Abraham away, which he used as a chance to run for it. He heard the other man say “Travel safe!” before he left the building, and went immediately to Anna’s place.

Anna had an idea. Abe hesitated at first, when she told him, but it was better than what he could come up with. She managed to get the catering job for the corporation’s party, and she also reported a new client frequenting her pub on weekends. “I think I might get more information out of Hewlett.” she said. “Also, he’s much less creepy and predatory than Simcoe.” Abe started to have doubts about his plan, but he sighed and went through with it. His tracks needed to remain hidden. Corporate spying was something punishable with a longer prison sentence than murder. Abe was fully aware of it, yet he agreed to work for Ben’s superiors. And he wasn’t going to change his mind. The days in the office went by with him getting his work done, and he was also successful in creating a distraction with a virus he let loose in the IT division’s system, though quite short lived, it bought him just enough time to get what he needed and send it over to Ben. In the meantime, he successfully avoided Simcoe, but he wasn’t naïve, he knew the other man won’t stop until he finds something that could be used as evidence against him. So Abe had to be careful, and meticulous. The beginning of April, and the usual team-building party came just in time for him to relax a little. Whatever the guys in Washington planned, he gave them enough information and data to leave him alone for a few days, a week even. He needed things to calm down before he could gather new morsels for his peers.

The party went right, at least Anna thought so. She was working her feet off, but at least that way she could focus on something else than the overgrown man standing just too close for her taste. Simcoe tried to start a conversation with her, but she kept her answers brief and smiled apologetically every time a half-drunk employee of Howe&Co. appeared at the bar demanding more of the beverages she offered. It went on like this, until Simcoe got tired of it and left, prompting Anna to sigh a prayer for whatever higher power had mercy on her. She was actually hoping that Hewlett would show up at the bar, but so far he seemed to enjoy himself talking with the bosses, and playing the piano, and singing with Abe. Anna didn’t know the song they were trying to interpret to entertain their co-workers, but it seemed to have the desired effect. Soon, everyone was singing. Anna kept serving drinks, and when she could finally speak with Hewlett – who insisted on calling him on his given name, which made Anna warm up a bit towards him – she even forgot about her aching feet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: A teambuilding event, and the start of a troublesome relationship.


	6. Poison Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A harrowing experience of a team-building party through the eyes of a slightly drugged and drunk Simcoe. Major Hewlett to the rescue?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dears!  
> The following chapter contains references to drug and alcohol usage/abuse, self-esteem problems, mental illness, swearing, and some male-on-male intercourse. (I suggest if you're off-put, offended by, or just generally not interested in that kind of stuff, to start scrolling after you see a row of asterisks ***, until you see it again.)  
> You have been warned, so if you're not sensitive to anything mentioned above, then by all means, read on! :)

_"...If my velocity starts to make you sweat_  
_Then just don't let go_  
_Cause the emergency room got no vacancy_  
_Tell me who do you trust, do you trust,_  
_And we just get up and go..."_

I kept my earphones on full-volume, so no one wanted to talk to me while I was working. I barely slept two or three hours a day ever since I got Hewlett’s damned flash drive with those encrypted files. Whoever made the encryption was either a professional or an evil genius. If I broke through one wall, I hit another, and another. I had to flay it layer by layer to be able to get through. Coffee and energy drinks were the only source of nutrients I took, since the office decided that I personally have to attend to every single broken computer and haywire program my colleagues didn’t deign to look into. Hewlett was pleased, though he kept on bothering me with statistics and reports I had no time to give him. My pill bottle became empty in a mere time of three days. I also noticed that Woodhull fellow lurking everywhere I needed to go. I felt a natural urge – besides strangling him – to see what is he up to. I knew I will regret it, but I followed him around for a few days. I was positive he went into places he wasn’t allowed into, and sometimes returned with papers or nothing at all but a sly smile. I couldn’t comprehend how nobody besides me thought him to be more than suspicious. But when I told this to Oyster, he just said “There’s no evidence. No names, just conjecture and gossip.” “Gossip is how these things start!” I objected. “I can’t report a person for corporate espionage based on a rumour Mr. Simcoe.” he told me. Scolded me even. Lucky for him, my blood pressure was way too low for protesting. Right until he continued. “It’s been a month now, how is the decryption of those files are going? If anything, that could be used as evidence for your claim. I suggest you work on that instead of harassing your co-workers and other departments.” I turned my back and left. Oh boy, I was livid. My day ended three hours later and I drove home, and wanted to work on that damned encryption, but the flash drive was nowhere to be found. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…” I groaned and started to look for it. Then I heard the queen of the house digging something in her litter. “Oh Mercy, have your name on me!”

I will not go into details. Let’s just say, that after everything was done, I had the flash drive, Mercy was banished from the room until further notice, and my laptop smelled like cat. Thinking back at the events of that day makes me laugh now, but then I felt like holding a gun against my head and happily spread my brains onto the wall. Then it changed into holding a gun at someone else’s head, and blowing their brains onto the wall. I’d rather go to prison than to work on that algorhythm from hell. Around two in the morning the next day, I made progress, and decoded one of the files. It opened into a cluster of other files, all video footages. I raised my brow, and went back to look at the row of numbers and letters. Then it hit me. It hit me like my hand hit my face after realising how painfully simple the coding really is. Let me demonstrate. I found a file titled “JGS070620160001”. It was encrypted with a layered code I could finally break. The letters were initials, and the row of numbers indicated a date, divided by month, day and year, also a batch number. Someone was recording the data from the corporation’s security camera system. I thought I call Oyster and tell him the news, but then I just sent him a text. I called it a day, then remembered that the usual so-called “team-building” party was due tomorrow. I went to sleep without even changing clothes.

I woke up to the screaming alarm on my phone, which I tried to silence by swatting at it. Mercy was a better player at this game, so she joined me, successfully batting my phone off the nightstand. “Cat, you scare me.” I told her then got up to shut my phone up and go on with my morning routine. I didn’t even think about how the cat got back into the room after I locked her out. I was off to work, but when I wanted to tell Hewlett about my progress in person, he was nowhere to be found. Ohwell. At least he let me do my work. Turned out he was hanging around with that Woodhull. After lunch break, everyone was talking about the party, so I just put my earphones in and blasted the music. It helped me focus, and I didn’t have to listen to the annoying background noise of people being enthusiastic about a big fat lie. Ever been to one of these corporate parties? No? Well, let me tell you one thing: It’s not about you having fun and building connections. It’s about all the people who already think they own your soul; make you feel obligated to act like they were your friends. Don’t want to come? Oh, it’s okay John, but we thought you’re a team-player. Don’t think you’re obligated, but if you skip, we’ll just assume you want to leave our esteemed company. Do you feel the paradox too, or is it just me?

Regardless, I showed up. I had to. I wanted to keep this job, and maybe one day get promoted. I had to offer my soul. I donned my favourite black suit with a tie and a pink shirt because why not, got another batch of my meds, and put a smile on my face. One thing I refused to change though was my means of travel. My faithful bike took me to the bar where the party was held. I could only find a parking spot in the garage of the mall nearby, and felt a little confident about it being a safe place, for at least it had security. I stopped and took some pills before entering with my workplace ID. The bouncer was getting my attention, for he was a head taller than me, and twice as wide. Okay, if the party gets really hot, he might pose a challenge. I immediately saw a familiar face among the catering crew, so I thought I might say a few words. My meds didn’t kick in yet, so I was nervous. Remember the barmaid I mentioned earlier? Well there she was, gorgeous in her plain yet elegant dress, pouring champagne into those tall glasses the waiter then took away. I almost changed my mind about the attempt at communicating with her, because of the timing, but I wanted to gather my strength. I was trying to get her attention for months now. I was sure she’ll be happy to see me, but I was in for an unpleasant surprise. Well, at first it was the crowd of people always choosing to ask for a drink when we were about to talk. I tried flirting, but she seemed creeped out by it. Then I heard the piano, and the voice of someone familiar.

_“Is this the real life?_

_Is this just fantasy?_

_Caught in a landslide_

_No escape from reality_

_Open your eyes_

_Look up to the skies and see_

_I’m just a poor boy_

_I need no sympathy_

_Because I’m easy come, easy go_

_Little high, little low_

_Any way the wind blows,_

_Doesn’t really matter to me_

_To me…”_

There he was, the Oyster prince at the piano, singing my life anthem. Along with a fairly drunk Woodhull. I felt sick, so I left. As I took a look back, Anna didn’t even notice, she was so immersed in her work, bless her soul.

 

I felt dizzy enough from the prescribed poison I had to take to be able to get through the night. Not many of my daily demons came to talk to me, and I was glad. I stood alone by the wall, as a proverbial - though pretty overgrown - wallflower, staring at the cheerful crowd of my co-workers and bosses. My mind wandered into the usual territory of trying to find a place for me in their hierarchy. Like so many times before, I was doomed to failure again. I snatched a drink from one of the trays the caterers ran around with, and kept them coming. After what was about the fifth cup of whatever, that was in those cups that made me feel a bit less like a creep, I heard a familiar voice next to me. "John?" I turned around automatically at hearing my first name, and met with the face of the Oyster Prince, freshly off from the stage. "I didn't expect to see you here." he added. "I didn't want to come." I riposted. "And I hope you don't mind if I won't stay long, my pumpkin carriage waits just outside." Edmund looked at me with contempt. "Are you drunk?" I gave him a smile and chuckled. "Not yet." came the answer and I snatched another adult juice from another tray. "But I'm on my way to Delirium land." My meds also happened to kick in just that moment. The alcoholic red liquid in my cup went down in one swig. "Listen, it won't be good if you get drunk and do or say something you'll regret tomorrow." Hewlett tried to reason with me. Poor Oyster. He didn't know he can't reason with a madman. "I appreciate the concern, really." I said, leaning against the wall, to prevent myself from falling over. "But I'm fine." I was lying through my teeth, but he didn't need to know. I shouldn't drink while on my meds. But then again, when did I care about what I should and shouldn't do? Another round went down like a fat kid on a see-saw, and Edmund left me, to drown my miserable existence in the substance. And so I did.  
But after an amount of fluids taken, some has to get out so I went to the restroom... or rather swayed, staggered or somewhere in-between. I felt absolutely like shit, with the world spinning around me. After I was done, I washed my hands and face in the sink, and looked at my reflection. It made me let out a chuckle, and I complimented myself with a "You look like shit." then let go of the sink, to stagger my way out. I wanted to go home and be ugly in peace, maybe write a shitty poem and cry, who knows. Suddenly my vision became blurry, and my dizziness reached a level where I couldn't navigate anymore. "What the fu...?" I asked, then probably passed out.  
  
I woke up to a glass of water splashed in my face, and someone hitting me while saying something like "Come to, you bloody idiot!" I slowly opened my eyes, and felt like I'm going to throw up. Not because of the sight of a concerned and fairly upset Edmund, but because of the conflict that raged between my medicated and alcohol-ridden brain and the rest of my body. I coughed, and looked him in the eye asking "Are we still having fun?" and probably smiled like a maniac. I do that often. Or so I'm told. Ed turned around to the crowd behind him and asked someone to call an ambulance. That added a load of adrenaline to the deadly mixture in my system. "Don't!" I hissed, as confidently as someone lying on the floor like a tripping plank can sound. Hewlett turned back to me, as I tried to stand up. I failed miserably. "John, you can't even sit up." he said. Not that I didn't notice. "I don't know how you managed to get this drunk in this short time, but I admit that it's something impressive. Even from you." he carried on with his lecture. "Thank you sir, for having confidence in at least one of my skills." I drawled as an answer. Ed didn't seem to notice that I dragged myself away from him. I must have been attempting to slide my way home, like a snail. I felt a hand grabbing me, and another, helping me to my feet, which were quite rebellious. I mean they refused to hold my weight and walk. Hewlett instructed the two men carrying me to follow him and take me with them. I was a bit grateful for the help, thinking that I had to crawl a shorter distance to my bike. But then we stopped at Edmund's car, and he opened the door to the back seat, and asked our eager helpers to put me in. What they didn't know was that I had an extreme aversion towards cars of any kind, that was related to an accident that happened when I was a child. So I protested. Braced myself against the door with my legs, hit one of them (quite hard as it turned out later), even tried to escape by crawling away. It took five of them, plus Edmund to shove me into that damned motorized coffin. I was still screaming and begging them to let me out, when we left the scene for good. Ed was prudent enough to tie my hands with his belt, preventing me from opening the door, and he threatened to gag me if I don't shut up. Though all the opportunities would excite me would I be sober, the terror that reverted me back to my ten years old self erased everything. I laid there, weeping and gasping for air, with eyes shut tight, waiting for the inevitable crash. After we stopped, I felt Ed's hand on my arm, and he muddled with dragging me out from the car. I fell on the ground, but was busy with curling up to a ball, and waiting for the memories to go away. "A little help would be nice..." I heard Edmund's voice, as he literally dragged me through his front yard into his house, where I continued my existence as a traumatised and silently weeping ball of shame.  
  
When the trembling and crying and horrible assault of memories on my already over-stressed brain ceased, I looked up. I was still sitting on the floor in Ed's house. He was sitting in front of me on a chair. "You should have told me you have PTSD." he said. I looked away, like he caught me doing something I wasn't supposed to. "It's fine." I answered, my voice deeper and a bit hoarse from the abuse. "It sure as hell don't look fine to me." he insisted. "I got my meds." I shrugged. Edmund hid his face in his palm. "And you were drinking alcohol while on them." he groaned. "Seriously, couldn't you find a less overdramatic way for suicide?" "I didn't want to kill myself." I said, surprised about the notion. I truly was pretty messed-up, but I wasn't suicidal. Homicidal surely, but not suicidal. "Then why are you so self-destructive?" he asked. I was staring at the belt tying my hands together, and mused about his question. Why, really? I left it hanging above us in the awkward silence. "I don't know." I answered honestly after a long pause. I still felt my head acting up, and my legs were trembling, but Ed couldn't see it because I managed to pull my knees up under my chin, and place my tied hands around my legs. I leaned to Edmund's shoe-rack, placing my head on the wall. "Something's very messed up with you, you know that?" Ed asked after a long pause. I let out a low laughter. "Tell me about it!" And this was the part where most people usually told me to stay the hell away from them. Not Edmund Hewlett. I still don't get what motivated him to do what he did that night. "Why aren't you going to a hospital, John?" he asked. "I'm afraid of them." I answered. "I'm afraid of cars, just the same." Ed tilted his head and clenched his jaw. It was a sign of him thinking. "You can't stay here, and if you don't get help for your alcohol and medicine poisoning, you might as well die." he told me. "And you accuse me of being overdramatic." I laughed. "I can handle it. It's not the first time..." Ed looked up at the ceiling, and called me a "bawheed". I didn't know the exact meaning of the word, but the way he said it indicated that it wasn't nice. "Talk dirty to me..." I winked at him, my archaic smile turned into a manic grin. He blushed, bless his soul. "Come on, Ed... This might be my last night on Earth, why are we talking about scary hospitals and other boring shit?" I asked. "I want a doctor to see you." He answered. "If you refuse to go to a hospital, fine then. I'll call my friend, Dr. Mabbs over." I shook my poor dizzy head. "Why?" I asked. This night was full of questions. "Why are you bothering with me? You might as well just wait until my condition passes and let me go home." Ed threw his hands up angrily. Damn, he was adorable. Or just my meds messing with my brain. "I can't let you die here." he said. I was contemplating his words and came to the conclusion that he's right. "Finding my remains here would raise inconvenient questions." I nodded. "But then... You could just take me somewhere and leave me there." Ed still clenched his jaw and squinted at me indignantly. What did I say? "I will not let you die, here or anywhere. I'll call a doctor, and see to it that you'll be taken care of." His answer to my suggestion came in a commanding tone that made me think, maybe there's more to my dearest enemy than I imagined. 

So he called his friend over, who untied my arms, undid my shirt, and in the end I got an I.V. sack and had to lay down on Hewlett’s sofa until the fluid went its course in my veins. I hate to be pricked with needles, but I endured it. The doctor and Oyster left me, and were discussing something I barely heard through the closed door, but it was about me. Then the good doctor left for good, and Hewlett came back. “You’re lucky to be alive.” he told me. “If you keep this up, your liver might collapse and you’ll end up in a hospital or worse, in a casket.” I chuckled. “Caskets are nice. Can I have a decorated one?” He sighed and shook his head. “John, it’s not funny.” “I know.” I answered. “I have a needle stuck in my arm, it’s not funny the least.” Honestly, I was trying to chase my nervousness away with saying these stupid things. The more my mind cleared the more fear took it over. What will he think? What will he say? What if anyone in the office hears about this? I had to keep the façade of the madman they all knew. “Stop with this flumadiddle.” Edmund exclaimed. “Excuse me, what?” I laughed. “You make no sense.” he told me. I kept on smiling at him. “I am in no way obligated to make sense to anyone except myself.” He sat down on the sofa beside me. “I shall take you home if you feel better.” he said. I wanted to protest, but the chemicals in my brain just started to party really hard. I only muttered something, then passed out.

I regained my senses around an hour later, when Ed pulled the needle out from my arm. It hurt a little, but I barely noticed it. The world was spinning, and I felt worse than before. At least I didn’t have the strength and coherence to protest when Hewlett helped me into a taxi. He sat beside me on the back seat, and I heard him and the driver talking. Probably about my address. I wanted to say something, but was unable to. Ed fished my ID card out from my pocket, and showed the address to the driver. I passed out again, leaning on my boss’ shoulder. In my defence, I was drugged out of my mind, but his warmth and general closeness calmed me. After we stopped at the building that housed my humble abode, I started to diddle with my keys, while Ed was staring at the night sky. He muttered something, so I turned my head to look at him. I couldn’t really understand what he was talking about. Stars maybe… The awkward little smile he made woke something in me. Something that wasn’t entirely destructive this time. They say that there’s a thin line between love and hate, and on that fateful night, in front of my flat, and under the distant light of the stars, I crossed that line.

***

I leaned closer and kissed him. Plain and simple. I don’t know what did I expect, maybe that he will push me away, hit me, or just generally will be disgusted by me and leave, but instead he returned it. The last shreds of rationality left me on that second. I don’t remember how we got inside, I barely recall shoving the door shut with my leg while helping Ed’s shirt off on the floor. It was a long time ago, when I was with somebody, male or female, but I knew it wasn’t something you forget how to do. My hands and mouth wandered around on his chest, ever lower until I met the border of Pantsville. I wanted to be patient, not to tear him apart on the first time, so I forced myself to take it slow. I opened his belt, his boxers, and freed that bellend, I took care of right away. All the ladies I had slept with said that I can do wonders with my tongue, but until now I had no way to test this on a male partner. I felt his hand in my hair, and kept on doing my business, until he asked me to stop. I looked up, and picked him up, which he tried to protest, but gave up and held on to my arms instead. After we managed to get inside my bedroom, we got rid of our clothes and he returned the favour he got from me in front of the door, by grabbing my joystick, and giving it a few strokes. I didn’t know if he did it before, or was a natural talent, but it was hard for me to restrain myself any longer. And it would be a waste to come too early… I stopped Ed and went to my dresser to find the tube of lubricant my ex left here before we broke up. I found it, blessed her wisdom, then returned to my current bedfellow. He helped me open the damned thing, and took matters into his hands again, though figuratively speaking. I caught him eyeing me, and mostly the area between my legs. He was probably measuring our size difference, while preparing himself for action. I was hesitating, not because I chickened out, - after all, he was on the receiving end - but because for a moment I thought I’m just having a wet dream. It all seemed surreal. Then he shoved me on my back, sat on my lap, and fitted me inside him, testing my ever-waning resolve with every thrust. It didn’t take long for him, and just a little longer for me. After we were done, he lied down next to me, and immediately fell asleep. I felt like someone drained all of my energy. All I could do before falling asleep as well, was saying “I never did it before…with an Oyster.”

***

My usual nightmare was interrupted by a voice I didn't remember to invite into it. "John!" I must have mutter something in return, which was insufficient in sending the intruder away, because he nudged my bare back. "John, there's a cat in your room." I rolled my eyes before opening them. "I know, I brought her here." I answered and tried to drift back to unconsciousness. "It is sitting on me, and staring." I heard, so I turned around and saw my cat, loafing on Edmund and poking his face with her nose.  
"How rude of me." I said. "Edmund, meet my roommate, Mercy. She basically slacks off on me, not paying rent, making me clean up after her, bring her food and enrichment items, but she occasionally offers emotional support in exchange."  
Edmund glanced at me, and back to the cat. "But... does it bite?" I immediately turned my back at them and hid my face in my pillow. I heard Mercy mewl and a loud thump as she excused herself out from the situation, and my room. There was a small pause before Ed speaking again. "I didn't think you're a cat person." I made a low groan. Seriously, the man was trying to make a conversation with me at 3 in the morning? "You know what part I love about waking up?" I asked while turning myself a bit towards him to see his face. He shook his head. "None of it." I answered my own question. "Let me sleep!" And with that I turned around and closed my eyes. I heard him tossing and turning a few times before I fell asleep again.  


The first thought that came into my mind when I opened my eyes around 7:30 in the morning, with Ed’s arms around my waist was “What have I done?” Basically, I was lying in bed with my boss in starkers, after the most alcohol and drug-ridden night of the century. It didn’t take a rocket-scientist to tell it can’t end well for either of us. Also, I felt bad for betraying my own policy of never sleeping with co-workers or superiors. I carefully got up, and went to take a shower. My head was hurting still, but it was clear of the drug-induced haze. I didn’t even know what will I tell Edmund when he wakes up. I was sure that I didn’t want to repeat our mistake, but I couldn’t know what will he think of me. A little voice in my head had some ideas though. I dressed up and proceeded to make coffee, when I heard him fumble around in my bedroom. He asked for some directions regarding the bathroom, and the whereabouts of his clothes, then disappeared from my sight for a little while. After he finished with taking a shower and more-or less getting into a shape that closely resembled a decent human being, he asked me if he could borrow a shirt from me, after all it was my fault that his was no longer wearable. I didn’t even remember tearing it apart. I nodded and gave him one of my older shirts I rarely wore. I asked how he liked his coffee, and made him one, while he sat on the barstool and looked out the window. We didn’t even glance at each other. It was easier. A loud “meow” came out of the blue, and broke the silence. Mercy was acting up all morning. There were days she was like this, so I didn't pay much attention to her mewling and frantically racing across the flat. Edmund was terrified though. "Is that normal?" he asked. I shrugged. "She probably feels some changes in the weather." Ed wasn't convinced, so he pulled his legs up higher on the barstool he occupied. I turned back to my own cup of morning poison to hide my grin. "Or..." I said "Maybe she took a sip from your coffee when you weren't looking." Hewlett glanced into his cup, then back to me which prompted me to laugh and shake my head. “No, she wasn’t even near your cup, I was joking.” He didn’t share my good spirits. “John, about last night…” Ed started but I interrupted. “It never happened.” The cold tone of my voice surprised even me. “Nobody needs to know, and nothing will change between us.” I added on a much softer tone. Hewlett nodded. “It’s settled then.” he stated, then both of us continued to sit in silence until he drank his coffee, thanked me and left. It was easier that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Confusion. Poor Edmund has to come to terms with everything he believed about himself, Simcoe, his work, and also work-relationships. 
> 
> \- Lyric quotes are from Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody and My Chemical Romance's Planetary(GO!)  
> \- "Bawheed" is a scottish curseword, meaning something like "someone whose head is full of bollocks". You're welcome.  
> \- "Flamadiddle" or "Flumadiddle" means "utter nonsense". I was looking for an excuse to use this word somewhere for a long time now.  
> \- "In starkers" is a slang for being naked.  
> \- Some lines were borrowed from TURN's season 1 episode 9.


	7. Confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hewlett needs to see things clearly, so he does what he does best: Overthinks and panics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello there!  
> Again, it's me and another chapter of this steaming brain stew.  
> Warnings for now include: Overthinking, distorted self-image, sexuality (more precisely, someone not being sure about his own), workplace relationships, Caroline Herschel.  
> You've been warned, if you still with me, read on, and have fun. ;)

It was 9 ‘o clock on a Saturday morning. I was sitting in a taxi, that drove me home. My mind wandered back to earlier. I was drunk last night, but not that much to forget everything. The scent of John’s shower gel struck my nose as I shifted on the backseat of the taxi, while it took a turn on the street. It smelled like citrus mixed with cedar wood and depression. As I remembered our conversation before I left his home, my own words from the night prior came to mind. “I love the stars more than anything in this world… I know I’m not the only one, yet I’m sure it would be foolish to think they are capable to love me as well, for they are too distant.” As I looked at his still imposing frame even in his weakest, his clear blue eyes that seemed silvery in the moonlight, I thought about John like he was a star on the night sky. I have no idea for the reason of this notion, and I couldn’t name it even after all these years. I could barely wait for the front door of my house to close behind me, so I could get rid of the twice-of-my-size shirt I borrowed from Simcoe and get his scent out from my nose. It made me remember things. The aching of my rear side also made me remember things. Just what on Earth was going on my mind? I sat down on my sofa, eyeing the spot where he lay last night. I should let him sleep here, and leave when he was sober enough. But who knows? Maybe what happened between us was inevitable. No. My rational half took hold of my brain again. Nothing in a one-night stand is inevitable. Also, he didn’t seem to mind it. But he was very quick to dismiss me with a “Nothing happened”. I sighed, and rubbed my temples. Just thinking of Simcoe gave me a headache, and it made me think about what if anyone hears about this? He or me, or both of us could be fired or worse. He was right, nobody should ever get wind of it. Nothing happened. Nothing.

But then again… How could I even end up sleeping with him? Why didn’t I just walk away, back to that taxi and came home? How come I have let him kiss me, and why it felt good? I suddenly felt ashamed. All of my life, I tried to be like everyone else. I tried to be normal, whatever that may mean. I stood up, and started walking in circles. I had to think it through. If I take this occasion for more than a one-night stand, maybe it will backfire on me, like every other attempt I made in human relationships. I was a lonely child, having no friends other than my older brothers. It all changed for a while, when I attended boarding school, and met Elliott. He was also the smallest son of a prominent family, and a lover of science and history. We got along very well. While I was always the target for mockery and practical jokes because of my face, Elliott was popular and always nice. Little did I know it was all a trap. We spent all of our free time together, and once we didn’t go home for spring break. That was when I realised I feel a bit more than friendship towards Elliott, but he laughed at me when I confessed it. We slept together once or twice though. We talked about it, and came to the conclusion that it was “normal”, since our school didn’t have any girls. We, in our teenage way of knowing everything, thought that all the other boys did it as well, so there was nothing to be worried about. We were so wrong. When his parents found out, they called my parents. Elliott and I were separated, and never to meet again, and I was even relocated into another school. This was a very good reminder for me to never let anyone know about my bedroom secrets. My parents were livid, and of course, tried to find me a “suitable match” to marry. Failures upon failures marked my love life, right until I met Caroline. It was in the last of my high-school years, and her wit and intelligence mesmerized me on the first day I spent in her company. She was no sculpture-like beauty, same as myself, so we got along in that sense as well. The four months left of school went away quickly, and in the meantime, me and Caroline got even closer. My parents, - seemingly relieved that my new love-interest was from the opposite sex – allowed me to invite her over to our family estate, and actually were quite fond of her. Our romance lasted even when I went to university, and sometimes, thinking of her was the reason I could survive the panic-attacks of exams. We got engaged one year before we finished our studies. I shared everything with her, she was the centre of my life. I seriously thought it will work this time.

I stopped my nervous circling, and took the glasses and empty wine-bottle to the kitchen. I put them in the dishwasher and the rubbish respectively, and leaned to the counter, thinking about how my life got derailed. We got married with Caroline after we both finished university, and began to work in our chosen fields of science and communications technology. Our love-life was more-or-less fine, but I always thought I do something wrong. She never seemed to be pleased with me. We spent more and more time apart, focusing on our work projects, and when we did spend time together, it was reduced to watching a movie or taking a walk. Our relatives couldn’t stop asking about when we’ll have a baby, so Caroline took it her duty to provide her and my ancestors both with an heir or heiress. I don’t know what it was, the pressure, or the stress my work put on me, but eventually, nothing seemed to work for us. We slept apart. We worked apart. We grew apart. After three years of marriage and five years of friendship, Caroline Herschel filed a divorce, and left my life and my house empty.

So it was fair to think that nothing good can come if what happened between me and Simcoe gets out in the open. I found myself nodding at his words of “Nobody has to know and nothing will change between us.” That was the best case scenario. It would save both of us from public shaming, and/or forceful relocation into other branches of the company, or in the worst, losing our jobs. I could easily move back to Scotland, but I wasn’t sure about him… Why do I even bother?

It was two in the afternoon of that Saturday, and I found myself walking around in circles, thinking a concerning amount about a man I spent the night with. What was wrong with me? What’s wrong with him? I wasn’t even into guys, why did I even like it? Did I? I did. Maybe I did. Maybe I was a freak, like my grandfather said. Maybe I’m a freak. A freak… Simcoe. I better avoid him at all costs.

 

I had a restless sleep that night, and Sunday went over in a haze, before I even knew it. Monday morning came in the form of my alarm beeping and prompting me to force myself back into the shape of a human. I shaved the two-days old stubbles and took a shower, the familiar scent of my own cleaning agent calmed my tense nerves. I sat in my car, and drove to the office, blasting the music and trying to forget about Friday night. I had a habit of singing along with my favourites, so when Queen’s “Find me somebody to love” came in, I involuntarily hummed along with the lyrics, as I sat in my car stuck in traffic.

_“Got no feel, I got no rhythm_

_I just keep losing my beat_

_I'm ok, I'm alright_

_Ain't gonna face no defeat_

_I just gotta get out of this prison cell_

_Someday I'm gonna be free, Lord!_

_Find me somebody to love_

_Can anybody find me somebody to love?...”_

As I was singing my heart out, someone knocked on my window. Of course I was startled, but when I saw Simcoe’s grinning face sitting on his bike, looking at me, I felt blood run to my face. Can this Monday be even worse?

 

Though it was a rhetorical question, it seemed life was going to answer it with a “yes”. I was successful in avoiding Simcoe most of the time, but for some reason, today he was particularly cheerful. He kept on singing the same song every time I crossed paths with him. It was always Queen. I sincerely had a feeling that he was mocking me. No, after the fifth time I heard his rendition of “I Want to Break Free” I was sure that he was mocking me. What was worse, that after a while, all of my division was singing that damned song. I called Simcoe to my office, despite having every single cell in my body rebelling against it. “You called, sir.” That sing-song, annoying falsetto made me want to scratch the wall. “Did you succeed with decoding the files I gave you?” I asked. “As a matter of fact I did.” he answered. “They are video files from the corporation’s security system.” I was thinking about why did Joyce copy the security system’s files, and encrypted them. “That’s strange.” I muttered. “Pretty much.” I heard Simcoe add, while he was picking up and rearranging every single item he could reach in the office. “Would you stop doing that?” I asked, but he didn’t seem to hear. “You see, I was working on these files a lot yesterday and before that, and I found many of them tampered with.” he went on, ignoring the hell out of my request to stop diddling with my decoration. “I also looked into the firm’s security cameras, and found two of them malfunctioning, and two other also tampered with. I might add that the firewall is not the most… Adequate.” I raised my brow. “Mr. Simcoe, please correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re just telling me that you hacked into your own workplace’s mainframe, and checked the security system?” He looked at me, to the ceiling, then nodded. “To be fair, I thought I give some suggestions on how to make our security better, but since I already have more work than I get paid for…” He didn’t continue. And I didn’t know what to say. The man had nerves, that was for sure. But he also raised my attention to a serious matter. Namely the firewall. I hoped I can make him stay away if I give him enough to do. “Well, you said you have some suggestions concerning the firm’s security system. I say we let you do it, if you can convince the higher-ups. So you can have it your way, and also get paid for it.” He looked at me with a genuinely surprised face. “But!” I raised my index finger “You need to find and report any anomalies to me.” He nodded. “So you believe me?” he asked. “Pardon?” I asked back, not knowing what he meant. “About that corporate spy.” I remembered Simcoe saying something about that, but I seriously doubted he’s telling the truth. In fact, if we think it through, even he could be that spy he tried to raise my awareness to. It would be a risky game to play, but as much as I knew about him, he never cared about if something was risky, and loved to play games with people. He was dangerous. Like a demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Blood on the Vines... Abe and Caleb enter the stage and reveal a thing or two about good 'ol Joyce.
> 
> \- Also, Fun Fact no one wants to know about: My co-writer and dear friend (who by the way is a huge Beatles fan) made me realise a very funny, semi-historical fact. The way I portray Simcoe in this fic is very much resembling another British historical figure by the name of John...Lennon. (You know, nobody important, just the guy who founded Beatles with his friends, and wrote maybe the most famous anti-war song called "Imagine". ;) ) She also pointed out some other similarities, namely the shady, troubled past with gangs and drug troubles, the snarky-sarcastic and sassy demeanour, and also the self-doubt. (The exception would be the conviction, where Simcoe was a soldier, and Lennon was a pacifist.)  
> Okay, sorry for boring everyone with probably false and over-thought comparisons, and songs so old nobody even knows about them anymore. (But still, here's the link to "Imagine", if you want to hear it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RwUGSYDKUxU )  
> So, where's the joke you ask? I tried to mix the historical Simcoe with the one we saw in the TURN TV-show, and got John Lennon as a result. :'D


	8. Interrupt Nr.2: Blood on the Vines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abe meets his liaison and shares some information about his current situation. Anna hatches a plan to seduce Hewlett.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dearest readers!  
> I managed to finish this one earlier than I thought, so I have some more time for the next chapter. Whee! This one is another - this time not so "mini"-chapter about "What's going on?", and since no one commented that the POV change was off-putting or breaking the flow of the fic, it will stay that way. Warnings for this chapter include: Planned murder, not-so-positive depiction of fandom-favourite characters, butterfly-effect.  
> Still not hitting that big X on the top right of the tab? Yay! Then have fun!

"This firewall is pathetic!" Abe heard Hewlett's voice as he leaned over Wakefield’s shoulder, examining the program involved. “No wonder it was broken down easily.” Abe went closer, and took a glance on the monitor in front of the other two men. Rows of numbers and symbols ran in endless flow. “Is there a problem?” he asked, and stood next to Hewlett. Wakefield explained to him that someone hacked into the firm’s security system, and Abraham couldn’t help but notice the jaw clenching Hewlett made. So he knew exactly who tested their firewall. Abe had a suspicion, and he knew he wasn’t risking his luck in the past few weeks, so it made him think. “What did they want? I mean, why would anyone hack into a telecom corporation’s mainframe?” Wakefield exchanged glances with Hewlett. “Well uh… There have been many speculations among the IT division personnel about the reason behind the attack.” Hewlett said. “But still nothing is certain. I want to give enough time for Simcoe to dig up anything we might find useful.” Abe was proud of himself later for being able to keep his cool. “Well, I hope he’ll find something.” He added and left.

Later that day he went down to the IT division on behalf of Baker, who lost his ID card. He was waiting a few minutes in front of the office, because everyone was occupied with something, and Abe didn’t want to raise attention. He spotted Simcoe in a white T-shirt with “Satan’s IT Service” and a stylised devil with a headset on it, asking the same question “Have you tried damning it to hell?” what he asked from a client he was talking with on the phone. Abe just noted to himself that his self-proclaimed nemesis couldn’t pick a better piece of clothing to wear. He had every cell in his system revolting against going near that man, but he had to. He needed information, and to get that, he had to talk with the devil. It went surprisingly well, considering the redhead’s suspicious nature, but when he left the office, Abraham was positive that he needs to take some steps for his own protection.

 

Baker was positively terrified of the faintly smiling man whose hand landed on his shoulder. “Mr. Baker!” Simcoe squeaked “Pray tell me, how did you lose your ID?” “I left the card in the restroom.” he answered flatly, not daring to look that madman in the eye. Simcoe let out a small, unnerving chuckle. “Come on Gareth, we both know you’re not that stupid.” Baker finally gathered all of his mental strength to look Simcoe in the face. “John, people are sometimes forgetful. Especially if they have a lot of things to do. You of all people should understand that.” Simcoe stared at him for a moment with the same suspicious expression, then he shrugged. “I guess. So you’re saying that Mr. Woodhull had no part in you losing that precious piece of plastic that the company charges a lot for?” Baker shook his head. “I lost it because I forgot I left it in the restroom, and when I went back, it was missing. I asked the janitors and the security personnel, but no one saw it. I thought getting a new one wouldn’t be this tedious of a task.” Simcoe sneered at the passive-aggressive attempt to get rid of him. “All right then. Sorry for keeping you from doing your work.” he trilled, and left. Baker sighed with relief.

 

Abe showed up at Anna’s pub that evening being fidgety. More than usual. He was about to meet the courier he supposed to give information to. One of his childhood friends, who travelled all the way from Washington D.C. As much as he was anticipating the event, he feared it as well. He ordered a beer from Anna, and sat down to one of the empty tables. The evening passed away without anyone bothering him (except for his wife, who called and asked where he was, so he had to concoct a tale about staying in office late because of a nasty case of a complaint, so he was “just out getting something for dinner”), and when it was almost closing time, Abe heard a motorcycle’s engine roaring, and stopping. A man with an unkempt beard and weary leather jacket and boots entered the pub, prompting Anna to run over to him, and give a hug she almost immediately freed herself from, claiming the man “smells like dung”. Abe stood up, and went over to their mutual friend. “Hey there, Woody!” the newcomer greeted him. “Caleb, it’s been ages!” he shook his hand. “Annie called because she said you have something for me.” Abe nodded.

Anna shepherded them to her office, away from curious eyes and ears. “I think the higher-ups at Howe & Co. suspect something.” Woodhull said after they both sat down. “What makes you think that?” Caleb asked. “There’s this new executive at the IT division, called Hewlett…” Abe explained “The one who got Joyce’s office. He sent his hound dog Simcoe to tear every file we thought we secured apart, and now they are testing the company’s firewall for errors after an alleged hacker attack.” Caleb whistled. “Whoever the guy is, he’s not one to waste time.” Abe shook his head. “I gathered some bits of information for you, but with Simcoe on my trail, I won’t be able to do much.” Caleb was thinking for a while, then he nodded. “Fine. We’ll deal with Simcoe the way we dealt with Joyce.” “Thanks.” Abe sighed. “But you need to be careful this time. Another sudden heart-attack would be suspicious.” Caleb squinted at Abraham. “Then what do you suggest?” Abe stood up and walked around in the small office. “Let’s see… Your and Ben’s bosses want information about Howe & Co.’s technologies, and a way to exploit it for their own needs. I can get that for them, but I need a decoy. Now it wouldn’t be wise to make either Simcoe or Hewlett disappear.”

Caleb turned to the opening door, when Anna entered the office. “I closed the pub.” she commented and sat down. “So, what do we have?” After both men told her about the situation, she just cast them a flat look. “It’s too easy for you to see I guess.” she said aridly. “All we need to do is getting closer to them. Hewlett knows about the video files and maybe he’ll be able to find what else you had tampered with.” she told Abe. “You said you need a distraction. I can do that.” Abe furrowed his brow “No, Annie. I can’t possibly ask you to…” Anna rolled her eyes. “I can derail Simcoe’s investigation, and maybe in the meantime you can find a way to get rid of him for good. I might get to Hewlett that way easier. I know how to make men talk, and you’d be surprised how much they tell if they have a sympathetic ear and an appropriate amount of alcohol.” Caleb and Abraham exchanged glances. “She has a point.” Caleb commented. Abe nodded, but he didn’t like the plan. “If that creep tries anything, you call and we’ll end him and bury him somewhere no one will find him.” he added. Anna shook her head. “In the meantime, you should make friends too, Abe.” she said. “You know, important friends, who know a lot about the firm’s security system and maybe about its various projects. After all, we don’t want to spend the rest of our lives here in Mooseland.”

Anna didn’t even suspect that her plan can be set in motion right the next night. Simcoe was sitting in the darker corner of the pub, as he always did. His usual laptop however was missing this time. He only ordered one glass of brandy and pretended that the crowd around him doesn’t exist. He occasionally checked his phone, frowned and went back to cuddling his glass. Anna went over to him, and refilled his half-empty vessel. “It’s on the house.” she managed to smile. “Nothing in this world is free, Mrs. Strong, so please just tell me if you need something. You don’t have to buy my help.” Simcoe said on a weary tone. Anna could never quite get the man’s behaviour. Sometimes he was nice, other times disturbing, but the times she hated him the most was when he was so utterly human like now. Embittered, tired, cynical. She positively found him repulsive. “Have it ever occurred to you that it was only an act of kindness, and not an attempt at “buying your services”?” she asked a bit offended. “Nobody is kind, only if they want something.” came the answer. “Well, be sure that I will not try to force any more of my ‘deception’ onto you, sir.” Anna riposted, and couldn’t help but notice the flinch Simcoe made. “I’m sorry if I offended you.” he said. “I just want to be left alone tonight.” Anna wanted to leave it as that, but she needed to get close to Hewlett, and to achieve that she needed to get under Simcoe’s skin. “Wouldn’t it be easier, if you could share what troubles you?” she tried. “Sorry love, but I was raised not to burden others with my woes.” Simcoe trilled coldly. “I appreciate your concern though.” He added on a warmer tone.

Just when Anna was about to say something, another customer entered the pub. It was no other than Hewlett, looking around nervously. Simcoe stood up, paid his tab and left, brushing his superior’s shoulder while slithering his way out the door. Anna sighed with relief, and immediately went over to Edmund, who was staring at the street where his co-worker disappeared. “Dear Mrs. Strong! Do you have some red wine to ease someone’s nerves after a long day with a certain humanoid hurricane?” he asked when he saw Anna approaching. She smiled and shepherded Hewlett to the bar, and took the best of her bottles out. “I think I can surprise you with something.” she answered. Her plan seemed to work, for after the third or fourth glass of her finest red, the talking went freely, like the sizeable stick Hewlett must have got at birth suddenly disappeared from his backside. Anna had to listen to tedious rambles about astronomy, old books she never was interested in, also references to songs maybe her grandma was listening to, and hours of boring, idle chat until Hewlett finally talked about his work. Which was – to an extent – also boring, but the information Anna needed was connected to it at least. “It must be very tedious.” she nodded empathically, when Hewlett mentioned the IT division’s many simultaneous projects, and that they are understaffed. “Wouldn’t be that tedious if I wouldn’t have to put up with…” he stopped and shook his head. Anna knew who he is referring to. “Simcoe.” she finished his sentence with the same, “I know about it” look on her face. “He frequents my place, as you probably noticed. I bless whatever God is responsible for him being too tired to cause trouble this week.” Hewlett chuckled. “The man ruins everything he touches, isn’t he?” Anna was about to answer when he continued. “Such a shame.” “What do you mean?” she asked. Edmund clenched his jaw and stared into his wine before answering. “He’s so contradictory. At first, I thought I can predict his actions based on previous instances, but the man personifies the butterfly-effect.” Anna blinked. “Um… I’m afraid I can’t follow. You mean he has a reason for everything?” Hewlett raised his head, and his brow, then he was thinking for a moment, before he began an elaborate mathematical explanation about chaos theory, and that popular culture gets the butterfly-effect all wrong. Anna nodded like she understood what he was talking about, but if she wanted to be honest, she’d understand it just the same if Hewlett was explaining it to her in Swahili. Or Chinese. Or Martian. Edmund caught the hint, and stopped with the mathematical jargon. “I’m sorry, what I wanted to say is, that even though it doesn’t seem like it, predictability is inherently limited. There are many factors you cannot take into account when predicting something, including the personal element.” How it was connected to the man that sparked the conversation in general, Anna could not tell. It was way past closing time, but she found herself enjoying the company of the little bit tipsy Hewlett. “One more glass, professor?” she joked. Edmund laughed and declined. “I have work tomorrow my dear, but thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Simcoe has a lot to do, but somehow still manages to let his mind wander off to... well, everywhere it shouldn't. Also, beware of the Mailroom Jerk!
> 
> \- Disclaimer: The characters portrayed herein have little or nothing to do with history anymore. Also, yes, in my opinion (which I know I can/should shove where the sun don't shine) Abe is a horrible person, and Anna is a self-centered survivalist, so they are portrayed as such in this narrative. (Why can't we just love them for the messed-up folks they are, without turning them into saints? Just sayin' )  
> \- The butterfly-effect is an interesting thing, and it might re-surface somewhere in this fic or another. (Also, Disclaimer Nr.2: I'm painfully stupid for anything maths-related, but I'm still somewhat capable of understanding theories. Yaay! Don't try to drop a conversation about it with me though, if I say I'm terribly stupid for maths, I mean it.)


	9. Bedfellows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simcoe has to work over-hours, and by some mysterious - or not so mysterious - circumstances, he ends up being a substitute in the public relations office, neatly hidden in the mailroom for a week. What can go wrong there right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dearest readers!  
> I have to admit that this chapter was one of my favourites to write. I hope you will not be disappointed by it. Warnings include: Long-ass chapter warning, cursewords, self-doubt, reference to drug use/abuse, angst, and a hideous poem by yours truly. (If you'd want to throw rotten tomatoes in my general direction after reading that part, I totally understand it, but please don't.)  
> Have fun! <3

Saturday found me alone and worried. After Hewlett gone away, my usual cold demeanour left me with my other, neurotic self. What, just what the fuck was I thinking? The answer was obvious: I wasn’t. I wasn’t thinking at all, just acted on an impulse, like always. It might cost me everything I worked for in the past four years. I was hoping that Hewlett takes my words to heart, and we can continue in the office like nothing happened. My demons came to dance with me in the form of fear, anxiety, sorrow, and my good old friend, self-doubt. I tried to drown them in work, but then again, I got the flash drive from Hewlett, so why bother? I’ll end up in another division or out on the street soon. I decided to leave it the hell alone, and went out to take a walk, and maybe get my troublesome thoughts out of my head. I treaded the streets for hours, until I found myself in a familiar neighbourhood. I knew these streets. I knew these houses. I spent a large part of the beginning of my career at Howe & Co. living in one of them. After a few more, now intentional steps I stood in front of Joyce’s door. The yellow tape that sealed it shut still remained there, though the investigation was long over. I fished my keys out – funny turn of events that I never gave him back my copy of keys to his house – and went in. I carefully wandered around the old house, seeing every item as a fragment of a memory. A life gone and forgotten. I picked up a photograph – knowing the CSI already wiped the place clean, and they won’t be back anytime soon – and found myself wondering what did Charles see in me. Why did he take the mentally unstable junkie I was at 21 under his wings? It couldn’t be nostalgia, I looked nothing like the man he loved before his unfortunate demise a year before I waltzed into the picture. Maybe he had a thing for the unkempt, wayward kind, like some people who always take every stray cat or dog in to nurture them back to health. Thinking about it made the way I treated him in return even more vile. I put the picture down to the table, and went upstairs, maybe to look for his ghost to apologise. I walked past the room I used to live in. I tried not to remember the days of withdrawal symptoms, rage and despair. I’m over it now. As I stood in front of his bedroom, something in the back of my mind began to stir.

It was a small suspicion, but since I had nothing else to do, I went in and searched through good old Charlie’s belongings. I found nothing in the nightstand, nothing in the closet, neither under the bed nor behind the wardrobe. I was starting to think it’s silly, after all the police went through the whole place, and I doubted they left any proverbial stone unturned. I still went to his bathroom, and opened the cabinet. And there it was! A pill bottle, identical to my own. I lifted it up and shook, it was full. I never knew he had to take the same brand of anti-depressants my therapist gave me. Once again I had to realise I know nearly nothing about Charles Joyce, God rest his soul. I leaned to the sink as I opened the bottle, and immediately saw that something was off. I fished my own, though much smaller bottle out from my pocket and opened that one too. There was something about the pills. Their colour seemed to be different, though not significantly, maybe in a hue or two. Someone whose eyes aren’t the best or pays no attention to small details such as this may not even notice.

So I called my dear college classmate Eastin, and asked a rendezvous. I brought both pill bottles, so I could point out the difference between their contents. “And why don’t you go and give it to the authorities?” Eastin asked the stupid question of the century. “Well, my dear friend” I started my explanation “It’s because I already have enough trouble with the police forces, and them seeing this ginger minger might give them the idea of putting all the blame on yours truly.” The former classmate of mine stared intently into the two different pill bottles. “You take these for mental health problems?” he asked. I nodded. “You never told me.” I managed to leave my face without an expression. “Why would I? To show a weakness you or the others could use against me? No thank you.” Before Eastin could say anything, I added “And I’d also appreciate if you’d omit telling about the source of the pill bottles to anyone. It’s prescribed, so my name is on it, I can’t do anything about that. But be sure I can make your life hell if word gets out.” My almost-smile that always unnerved anyone in two seconds did its best again. Thank you, creepy smile. “You can count on me, John.” Eastin assured me. Funny, I never caught his given name, despite the fact that he thought we have an intimate enough relationship to call me on my own. “Goodbye then!” I sent him on his way to the lab where he was about to find out if anything else besides colour was off with Joyce’s pills. “Travel safe!”

I felt much better after spending almost all of Saturday outside. My throat got tighter only when I had to go back to the mall and its parking lot for my bike. It was all there, not even a scratch on it, but someone neatly tucked a parking fine bill between the handle and the rear view mirror. I grunted and went over to the guard’s booth to pay it, to be able to get home. As I sat on the saddle and drove away, my thoughts wandered back to Eastin and our college years. I can’t say that I was a popular kid. I had my circle of so-called friends, and a bigger circle of non-friendlies, but Eastin always stood somewhere in-between. I also was aware of that he was really into me for some reason. And I mean it in the sense of he was probably thinking of me when he was alone, and… you know… minding his own business… You know what? Don’t think about it, the mental image will give me nightmares for nights to come. Eastin always wanted to get into my circle, work with me on team projects, and generally was trying very hard to get my attention. He did. I just refused to acknowledge it to him, because he was more useful if I could keep him pining after me. Yes, I know. I’m evil. Anyway, he ended up getting himself into trouble with the authorities once or twice, and I knew just what to do and who to turn to, to get away with it. He was in my debt, and I intended to collect. 

I spent the evening and most of the night working on Hewlett’s flash drive, and dug out another batch of security camera footages, which I found to be modified. How did I know? Well, I mentioned that batch of files I found with my initials earlier. All videos were timestamped. On two days, in last June, the timestamp was wrong. I mean, I know I was on sick leave that two days, but there was footage of me going about and doing my job. I inspected the video file closer with many different programs and at first it yielded no result, but when I was about to give up and throw it aside, thinking my memory tricked me, I found that the timestamp was modified. The footage was from a year before, on the same day. Now that I knew what to look for, I ran all of the files through those programs, that waited eagerly to tear them apart to ones and zeros. Mercy tucked herself in my lap, demanding me to pet her and give scratches to her itching neck, rewarding me with loud purring and kneading my legs with her claws. Pure love. I probably dozed off along with the cat, because the next time I opened my sore eyes it was already light outside and my muscles screamed from being in a quite uncomfortable position. Mercy noticed that I’m awake, so she rushed to her bowl and demanded food. It was about time I moved my limbs and get rid of the numbness.

Sunday went away with a lot of staring at the monitor, and finally falling asleep on the sofa. Again. I woke up way before my alarm went off, so I forced myself to go back to the bedroom I successfully avoided for almost two days. I changed the bedsheets, threw the used ones to the laundry, and went to take a shower, brush my teeth and all that stuff before going to work. I left home a bit later than usual, so I got stuck in a traffic jam. Good thing I had a motorcycle. I slalomed around the cars and suddenly heard music coming from one of them. I recognized the song as one of those old ones you never admit that you love publicly. I casually rolled over and took a peek into the driver’s seat… to see the rare Singing Oyster in his native domain. My day was made, right in that moment. I grinned and knocked on his window, probably causing him a smaller heart-attack. He looked like a startled pigeon. The traffic moved forward, so I waved at him and moved along. I knew I will savour this moment for the remainder of the day.

The work was the usual boring routine, but I didn’t feel so bad or tense as I was supposed to. Tanner even mentioned it to me, and I didn’t want to hit him with a chair. Who knows, maybe doing some bedlympics with someone was indeed beneficial for my mental state. However, no one must know about the person of said bedfellow. I made a plan, as always. Every time Hewlett passed me by, I started to sing. I’m awful at it, so I knew he would find it adequately annoying. To my great joy, my co-workers picked up with my prank, so after a while he had to deal with the whole IT team, not only me. We did want to break free. And came lunch break, so off we went. It was all so convenient. Nobody from my division asked questions, and when we came back, his majesty Indignant Royal Horse droppings called me to his office. After the usual banter, and me redecorating – because I had that habit – he asked if I finished the decryption. I told him what I’ve found, and also brought his attention to the weak security of the company’s firewall. Of course he was mad. I told him that I wanted to give suggestions on how to better our security, but changed my mind. I had more than enough work to do anyway. He was thinking, I saw that jawbone moving around. Then, after a long, awkward pause, he said he lets me do it if I can convince our superiors. Mate, we have a corporate spy running around, and a firewall that probably wouldn’t stop an elementary school student with basic knowledge in computer science. It seemed he still didn’t believe me.

The next day came the bigger surprise. I was about to be relocated to the public relations office. Of course, I went and gave a notice of appeal at Oyster. “If you know what’s good for you, you leave this division.” he told me. “You’re in luck.” I answered aridly. “Maybe Mr. André will assign me to a task of actual importance.” And so I was exiled to the mailroom. If I ever had a false notion of André having any sort of sympathy towards me, it was shattered to pieces after the first day away from my usual work. All I had to do was – drumroll please – mailing! No wonder I wasn’t very enthusiastic. The lads down here were buried under papers and envelopes. I couldn’t possibly fathom why in the world did our company still use old fashioned mail in the age of the internet and electronic communication. A telecom company no less. My disdain was shown in my work, so I was often scolded. I can’t say I cared much. On my second day I was scribbling words to an empty piece of paper while the others were chatting idly. If there was one thing I hated the most, it was hollow small talk. I was called anti-social because I had an inclination to excuse myself from a conversation if it lost meaning. As I wrote and crossed words they started to align themselves into a work of… well, something like poetry. I realised that I needed the memories of last Friday out of my system because it began to haunt me. My empty bed, my empty room...The feeling of someone else’s touch on my skin. The look in Ed’s eyes as he looked up at me, leaning to my door, right before I kissed him just to try… I tried to chase his memory away by thinking of Anna, but it didn’t work. For once in a long time, the mental image of her face wasn’t enough to distract me from my memory. I put the pen down, and went over to the pile of unpacked formal letters and began to envelope them.

It went like that. Sun goes up, then goes down, I drag myself back at my desk, play the game, pretend that I like them. They sometimes talk to me and I pretend to listen. I scribble more words. The poem becomes somewhat tolerable. I leave it on my desk before going home for the weekend. I spend the whole Saturday in bed, feeling too weak to get up. Mercy nags me to feed her and clean her. I fall back into the warm embrace of my sheets after it. I miss Ed. I scold myself. It was only a one-nighter. He probably doesn’t even remember it. Not that I did anything worth remembering. I wrap my arm over my face and hide my sore eyes under my elbow. Sunday comes, and I still feel like a wreck. I called Eastin about the pill bottles, but he didn’t pick up. Screw him. I feel the waves of anxiety and fear wash over me. My hands tremble. I call another number and ask an appointment with my therapist. I need those thrice-damned pills. Until then, I drown my mental darkness in alcohol.

I could barely wake up to the shrieking sound of my alarm. It was a gloomy Monday, and I didn’t even remember what happened that day besides cutting my hands a thousand times with the edges of the papers. I sacrificed my blood for the job. Whoo. The other guys were chattering like old women, but I drowned them out to static noise. I was playing a song or two in my head and kept reciting their lyrics to be able to focus my attention from their babbling. The day went by, and I drove home like a drone, feeling like the static noise in my brain will eventually kill me.

My next day was a bit less maddeningly boring. The mailroom was pretty empty, and I found myself looking out the window, longing for the warm and sunny day outside… Well, longing to be anywhere but here. Unfortunately, I forgot about the plastic bottle standing near my hand, and as I turned back, I knocked it over, soaking all the nearby letters in orange soda. Brilliant. This is the Mondayest Tuesday ever. On top of all this, the bloke who was in charge on this dunghill just walked in, and shouted “May I have your attention please! It seems we have a poet in our midst. Shall we stop our labour to better appreciate his verse?” There was a moment of silence, and my blood froze in my veins. What Mailroom Jerk began to recite was my poem.

_„From Algol to Perseus:_

_Dear Perseus, high on moral ground_  
_Whose sword had pierced right through my heart_  
 _Don't let my gaze turn you into stone_  
 _Medusa's brood is not of my own_  
  
_Strange and twisted my love be might_  
 _But if it's wrong, why does it feel right?_  
 _Sin is no new friend for me,_  
 _I'm condemned for all eternity_  
  
_Corrupted soul and tainted touch_  
 _Your purity is tempting much_  
 _This demon you may never tame_  
 _He hates and loves you all the same”_

Everyone laughed. Everyone except me. Mailroom Jerk stopped next to me and threw the note with my poem to the rubbish. “This one came for you.” he handed another note over to me. “Maybe it’s from your true love.” I took it, and my already dark mood turned to apocalyptic. André wanted to see me immediately. So I stood up, went over to that dolt and interrupted his chat with the mailroom guys by punching him in the face before sniffling and leaving.

André wasn’t happy. By the time I arrived in his office, the incident in the mailroom reached him. I saw Abby glancing at me with a concerned expression before she left us alone. “You wanted to see me.” I started, wanting to be through with this fast than having to listen to his babble. “It seems you are needed back in the pit.” Other John commented, not even looking at me. “Is that so? Hewlett changed his mind?” André finally deigned to look me in the eye. “No, I convinced him. In the past two minutes.” Blimey. He was a natural talent. “Look, John…” he explained while taking away the small hourglass I took from his shelf “…you caused me a lot of trouble, ever since you appeared in this floor of the building.” Well excuse me for my low tolerance for bollocks. I probably made an expression he noticed. “Will you stop rolling your eyes?” “Oh, sorry about that. I completely forgot I do that every time I have Deja Poo.” “You have what?” André asked with sincere confusion. Looks like you don’t know everything, sunshine. “Deja Poo as in “I have heard that shit before”. I answered “But it’s not funny if I have to explain.” “It wasn’t funny anyway. But back to why you are here, your uncontrollable savage arse will be sent back to pester Hewlett.” André riposted aridly. “I have no need for someone who constantly creates tension between his colleagues, and answers every small slight with violence.” Ouch, that smarts. “It’s about time you grow up.” I scoffed, and replied with “Then what do you expect me to do? Just be still and let the vultures pick my liver?” André stopped my diddling with yet another one of his interesting decorations. “You have to stop this! I suggested to Hewlett that he should send you to anger management. You can’t run around stabbing people with plastic knives and punching them in the face if you don’t like them, John. We’re no longer troublesome teenagers playing in a pseudo-punk band.” Oh yes, you read that right. The oh-so-perfect Mr. John “Fancy Pants” André and my humble self, we founded a band in our teens. That was before I ran away from home at 18. We thought we’ll be famous, like the Sex Pistols or The Beatles… But we were neither, and the band is history. More than a decade later, we stood in André’s office, and weren’t even friends anymore. “Anger management?” I pressed the words out. “That’s right.” he nodded. “You will start tomorrow at your old place. Bring your stuff back, and do me a favour, Simcoe: Disappear in that pit.” I turned around and left him. Though I was more than happy to get rid of the mailroom, and its resident jerks, meeting with Hewlett again filled me with anxiety. And I didn’t like it. I knew I will need something I can use to calm my nerves.

Gladly my initial nervousness vanished the moment I entered the IT division’s office door. “I’m back, bitches!” I yelled, and all of my old co-workers cheered. I saw Hewlett in the doorway to his office, and that he already rubbed his temples. It prompted me to go over to him. After all, I had to ask him about the anger management thing. “What are you doing here?” Hewlett asked with suspicion, closing the door. “Oh, I’m just checking on you.” I replied. “I heard a loud pop, and thought you may have pulled your head out of your arse.” He looked at me with that “offended owl” face I loved so much. “Mr. André informed me of your unforgivable behaviour.” he managed to say. I slightly bent my head to the side, but my grin stayed. “Meaning?” Hewlett started to list my misdeeds. “You hit one of your co-workers, excused yourself out of social interactions, and what’s even worse, insulted your superior.” Bravo André. That much shit-talking and I really don’t know if the next time I meet him I should offer him candy or toilet paper. “Recourse?” I asked flatly, not even being there but physically. Hewlett sighed. “I have to send you to anger management, John. It is obvious you need it.” The change of tone surprised me. But still, I didn’t want to go to anger management, or back to therapy. “Edmund! Just stop it okay? I’m fine, I don’t need to go anywhere.” He pierced my eyes with his brown ones. I noticed that his hair was a mess too. It was so unlike him I started to think if something was wrong. “Mr. Simcoe, you will go to that anger management session tomorrow morning, like it or not!” the commanding tone came back, and for a moment I thought again that Eddie has hidden talents. I mock-bowed. “As you wish, sir.” Hewlett’s face became a tone redder. “I swear I could strangle you.” he sighed. I looked him up and down and shook my head. “Nah. You aren’t tall enough.” I turned and went to the door to leave, but Edmund’s comeback made me stop and look back. “One day John, you will sink low enough for me to reach.” Keep dreaming, Oyster. Keep dreaming!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Ed and John repeat their mistake, and confuse themselves even more. Also, anger management, because it's... not that fun.
> 
> \- "Minger" is a slang for someone being... well, ugly (Did I mention Johnny Graves suffers from a teeeny bit of self-esteem issues? ).  
> \- By the way, am I the only one who thought Eastin's brown-nosing to Simcoe throughout almost all of the series would make some fantastic fanfiction material? XD I may see a bit much into it, but it was almost like he was reeeally into Johnny dear. (And who'd blame him, really? :D ) Omg... did I just make a ship? Is this how it works? O.o
> 
> On another note: I planned to make a TURN-themed blog on Google Blogger (I'd rather avoid Tumblr, thank you), where I could upload artwork related to my fanfics, or just eyesores that I call fanart. :'D Yay or nay? (In case I make up my mind and make it, would you even be interested in it? I'd gladly post the link to it somewhere around here, but if nobody cares, I will not make it.)


	10. Oblivious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edmund hears about the poem, pays a visit to John, and they repeat their mistake just to confuse themselves further. Also, as John's boss, Ed has to listen to the traumatised anger management therapist complain about our favourite redhead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!  
> It's me, your friendly neighbourhood cyber-potato.  
> This chapter took a little longer to write, because we're really getting into the thick of it, with all the arcs around, and there's also a love story to develop. I'd like to thank my friend again for the help, especially with the uhm... juicy parts.  
> Warnings here includes: cursing (come on, you already knew), male-on-male action (as usual, if you see the *** it begins, and ends after another *** ), Goblin metal.

And because I have nowhere else to link it properly: I have made a blog dedicated to everything TURN related I made, including illustrations, random fanart, screen captions and possible fanfic ideas... But mostly just fanart that will make your eyes bleed. :'D You can check it out, if you didn't already, [here.](https://myturnstuff.blogspot.hu/)

Okay, sorry for the spam, and back to Edmund's telling of his part of the tale:

* * *

 

I nearly threw my paperweight at the door closing behind his back. Cocky bastard. He managed to double cross everything I tried to avoid him. As soon as I was informed of the empty place in the mailing room, I consulted Mr. André – who I had to admit was somewhat unsympathetic – and he asked if I could spare any men to help them out as long as they hire a new employee. I told him I’ll send someone, carefully not mentioning Simcoe’s name. Knowing the consequences, I didn’t want to think about what kind of a calamity would it cause if I did. I have to point out that sending Simcoe away where he can’t cause much trouble wasn’t entirely my idea. I had been acquainted to the elder Mr. Woodhull in person, who gave me some valuable insight about how to handle problematic employees. Abraham was also very eager to help me, which I have to admit was no surprise, knowing his various unpleasant run-ins with my unruly subordinate. I knew it will mean that I’m on my own with the decrypting and the unveiling of this shady business behind the scenes, but I had a strong suspicion about Simcoe having to do something with it. With him out of the picture, I could think more clearly.

At least I thought. The next day, I saw him packing his belongings and move to the public relations office, and I felt bad for some reason. His features were expressionless, and he didn’t even look at me as we passed each other by. Then I went over to his former co-workers, and assigned his usual tasks to them. McInnis asked if Simcoe’s relocation was final, and I couldn’t answer. I went back to my own office, and dove into my own work, to distract my mind from the small voice telling me that maybe I made a mistake. The rest of the week went by with productivity and my occasional visit of Anna’s pub. It seemed like she didn’t object to my company, and I have to admit that I felt a connection between us. We were talking a lot about many things – that is, I was talking and she listened – including philosophy, literature, various theories, and her unfortunate experiences with customers. That of course, detoured the conversation to a certain tall and fairly handsome man whom I really didn’t want to think about. Anna was positively afraid of him.

“He’s not who you think he is, Edmund.” she sighed sadly and poured us another round of red wine. “You mean he’s not a manipulative and highly narcissistic bampot, hell-bent on bringing the apocalypse?” I asked, maybe sneering a bit. “It’s not funny.” Anna commented. “I saw him breaking a man’s face in my pub. All he did was making a comment on his hair colour.” It was nothing new, though I found myself thinking about how deep Simcoe can sink in my eyes. “I have a friend, who knows him from way back, and he told me that the guy has some loose screws.” Anna continued. “Killed an old man, they say.” That sounded the alarm. Though I highly doubted that – violent tendencies and short temper aside – Simcoe could kill someone and walk around freely without at least some surveillance from the local authorities. I was keep on thinking about it while I was trying to sleep.

And the next day, I was called by Mr. André. He told me to put a shorter leash on my dog, and explained to me what happened in the mailroom. And before that. The last time I felt so humiliated was in my high-school years. I agreed with André on that we have to do something about the phenomenon, and send Simcoe to anger management. He was in dire need of it. And so we are back in the loop where he stands in front of me and makes snarky comments, sneers and I don’t know if my heart is beating faster because I want to smack him or something else entirely. “I swear I could strangle you.” I heard myself saying, and thought that he might even like it, as far as I know. Simcoe’s grin got wider and his eyes wandered up and down me, which made me feel nauseous and uncomfortable. “Nah. You’re not tall enough.” he stated, then turned his back on me. “One day John, you will sink low enough for me to reach.” I hissed and he glanced back at me, with an unexplainable anticipation on his face. When he finally left my office, I needed to sit down. My legs were trembling.

I had a restless sleep that night. My dream was haunted by a red haired wraith with an annoying voice, wearing a mask made of flesh. I woke up in the middle of the night, and didn’t go back to sleep. I thought, why not go back to the office instead, I had plenty of work to do. I drove to the building in peace and relative quiet, only the radio and the slow notes of an old song broke into my thoughts. I welcomed it, for it helped me drive my attention away from my nightmare...

...Which I ended up returning to as soon as I stepped inside the office, and heard the awful sound of something that was later introduced to me as “goblin metal” echoing through the empty room and corridor. It sounded like it came straight out of hell. It wasn’t a big surprise to see Simcoe involuntarily nodding and humming along with it. “Did you stay here?” I attempted communication with the Lord of Hell in his “Satan’s IT service” T-shirt. “I didn’t really have much choice.” he replied. “Since you condemned me to that unnecessary anger management session tomorrow, I had to stay and finish my job.” He glanced at the clock on the wall “Or I’d rather say I have to go to that unnecessary anger management session today. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to be left alone now.” I stood in front of Simcoe for a while, watching him patching the program he was working on simultaneously with two others. And the goblins croaked of war and destruction in the background. “Actually I wanted to talk with you.” I told him, breaking his concentration. “Go ahead.” he answered without even looking at me. “I think it would be better to talk somewhere private.” I objected. John stopped typing and pushed his chair back from his desk, but remained seated. He pierced me with his icy gaze again, and made an expression that was supposed to be attentive, but his sarcasm left its mark on it. “Could we talk in my office?” I asked, and got one of his trademark eye-rolls. “Come on Ed, there’s no one here but the two of us.” I looked around, hoping to see at least one late-working janitor, but had to be disappointed. “You can tell me whatever you want to, here.” John finished his speech. Very well. I turned back to him, and asked “Do you think they know? About… uh… the two of us.” he looked confused for a moment, then shrugged. “If they know about us or not is of no importance.” I envied his confidence in this moment. “They all need their jobs. They won’t betray me.” those cold blue eyes wandered to my face again. “And they certainly will not betray you.” His voice sounded softer than usual, which surprised me. “How… why are you so sure?” He just flashed that unnerving half-smile at me, and went back to work, prompting me to do the same.

Morning came, and Simcoe left the office with my permission. I was a bit sad to see him go, and I didn’t know what made me feel that way. The rest of the day went smoothly, and I had to admit that I could get used to it, but then we got a call from the legal department, about another broken computer. I sent Motlow to fix it, but it took him almost all day. Then after lunch break, I decided to take my leave earlier. After all, I’ve been in the office for more than my work-hours. I went home and wanted to take a nap, but got woken up by my mobile’s ringing. It was an unknown number, so I had my suspicions. I picked up and got informed that the anger management coach wanted to talk with me. And oh my dear, she did.

I learned a lot about John Graves Simcoe that day. Things that included his narcissistic personality disorder, his lack of empathy and deep, dedicated love for physical violence, among being a master manipulator and dangerously ambitious. Lots of it were no news for me, but the poor woman kept going on and on about what he did and what he said. I felt equally frustrated and tired after I hung up. I glanced at the clock on my wall, and decided to go back to the office, see if I can catch Simcoe there. I wanted to talk with him, reason with him, I don’t know. But when I entered the office, there was nobody but the cleaning lady. Tanner, Motlow, McInnis and the others were long gone, and turned out that Simcoe didn’t come back to work after he was done with the anger management class. The young woman in my office was reading something, and was startled by me, coming in. “Excuse me.” she said in an adorable French accent. “I thought you went home already.” I was perplexed for a moment, but then just waved my hand. “Don’t worry about it dear. Carry on.” I went to my desk, and dug out some post-its to scribble a note to myself about that talk with Simcoe, when I spotted the paper with familiar handwriting in the lady’s possession. “Do you…ah… Would you mind if I take a look at it as well?” I asked, and she handed the paper over to me with a wide smile. “It’s a poem.” she said. “I found it in the mailroom. Someone threw it to the trash.” she looked at her shoes with a thinking expression. I glanced at the lines, and had to admit to myself that the poem was good. I also realised that it was written for me. The Greek mythological creatures, Algol the Demon star… Memories from a week past rushed to my mind. The taste of alcohol and chemical residue on John’s lips as he kissed me. His eyes, gleaming with a silvery shine in the moonlight. He was “Medusa’s brood”, and me, Perseus, who killed Medusa. I felt the office spinning around with me, and heard a voice of a young girl through the haze. “It’s so romantic. If someone would write a poem like that for me, I would definitely throw myself into his arms.” I looked up at her, and back to the crumpled piece of paper. “Would you… mind if I take this with me, dear?” I asked, already folding the poem and tucking it neatly in my pocket. “No monsieur. It is not mine.” she smiled, and went back to wipe the desks. I left the office without a second thought.

I drove to the apartment building where John lived. My thoughts raced through my mind. Everything I thought I knew about him, and everything that happened between us. To say I was confused would be an understatement. I didn’t know what came over me. I went to his door and knocked, then waited. I started to change my mind. It would bring nothing good if we end up alone again, just the two of us. I should really wait until tomorrow when I see things clear. Then the words of the young lady in my office echoed through my thoughts. “If he’d write a poem like that for me, I’d definitely throw myself into his arms.” Rationality just happened to call it a day and said goodbye. Just when I was about to turn around and leave, the door opened, and John stood in front of me asking “To what do I owe the pleasure?” and leaned to the doorway. His hair was wet, and his citrus-wood-heartache smelling shower gel struck my nose. “I just wanted to talk.” I managed to say without stuttering, which made me very proud of myself. “About what?” he asked, still leaning to the doorframe. “Could we get inside? I’ll tell you.” Simcoe shrugged and took a step backwards. Even barefoot, he was much taller than me. I pulled his poem out from my pocket. “You wrote this…” I started but he was shaking his head like someone, who saw his deformed child. “Ed… Just forget it okay? I threw it into the rubbish, because that’s what it is.” I didn’t believe him. Something about his tone and the way his pale features became rosy with the mention of that work of literature told me he’s not telling the truth. “It’s very touching.” I said, prompting him to laugh nervously. “Touching eh? Well, if it wasn’t my intention to touch you…”

***

It caught him off-guard as I dragged him down and kissed him. I was expecting the bittersweet taste of sherry mixed with pills, but got mint instead. I held his shirt with one hand, and the other wandered around his skin-tight jeans, pulling him closer, until he was nearly falling over. I felt him pull me in return, maybe to shepherd us into his bedroom again. I pushed myself a bit away from John’s chest, and let both of us catch our breaths. I felt his hardness even through the fabric of his jeans, and it made the need to free him from his clothes more urgent. I shoved him to the sofa. He landed on his back, still looking at me, and a sexy grin occupied his face along with anticipation. The man had no idea what he was doing to me. To be honest, I had no idea of it myself. My higher mind vacated the room, leaving me with my base instincts, that wanted to feel his skin against mine, run my fingers through his untameable copper mane and screw him senseless or make him screw me senseless. “Aren’t you going to undress me?” I heard that falsetto, hoarse and deeper with desire. I undid his belt and his black second skin was shed in a flash along with his boxers. He inhaled sharply and bit his lower lip as I got hold of – not so – Little John. 

I was surprised for a moment, not remembering how did he fit into me last time. I measured every inch, drawing low moans that grew louder after I bowed and took his gentleman part in my mouth. I didn’t want him to go get the tube of whatever was that. After a short time, my clothes followed his, and I sat on John’s lap, carefully guiding him in. It still felt uncomfortable because of his size, but I gave enough time to adjust. Simcoe made small whimpering sounds as I began to move up-and-down on him, grabbing my waist. I held on to his arms, leaning down to kiss him again. I felt like a rabbit that is being devoured by the wolf. I only realised I bit his lip when I tasted his blood on my tongue. A few more thrusts, and I began to see stars without the help of my trusted telescope. I muttered something into John’s mouth, and he began to grind harder until he came too. He held me close, leaning to my shoulder and gasping for air. When both our breathing returned to normal, he smirked and raised his head to look in my eyes. “I think we have a different understanding of the word ‘touching’”.

***

I didn’t know what to say. He carefully pushed me away, and I sat beside him on the sofa. “So much for ‘nothing happened’”. I said after a long and awkward pause, prompting Simcoe to smirk and shake his head, then turn away. “Why are you here, Ed?” he asked, and leaned back, waving his hand over his lanky self “Besides the obvious, of course.” I pulled my legs up and folded my arms around them. “I don’t really know John.” I admitted. “I couldn’t keep away from you, no matter how hard I tried.” It sounded tacky, but it was the truth, as I myself came to realise as soon as the words left my mouth. “I kept on thinking about you, and when I recognised you wrote that poem for me, I…” he interrupted me with rolling his eyes. “You know Eddie, you made me break my policy of not shagging the company twice, in a short time interval of two weeks. I need something more than that. Nobody in their right mind would fuck me just because I wrote some rhymes to them.” I highly doubted that, but his reasoning made me feel deeply ashamed. He carried on, seemingly unaware of the emotional turmoil he threw me into. “You want me to be your Nancy boy, don’t you?” I left his question without an answer, so he cocked his head to the side, and continued. “Well, as you already know, I refused to bend over even for Joyce, God rest his soul. Yet you managed to make me lose my better judgement. Now all I want to know, is what do you want to do with this situation?” Really, what did I want to do? Ask Simcoe to be my lover? That sounded just as ridiculous as throwing myself into his arms after reading a few lines scribbled on paper. “I don’t know, John.” I repeated. “Just give me time to find it out.” There was a minute of silence, with Simcoe picking up our clothes, and putting mine on the sofa, while returning to the bathroom with his own. I followed him after a while, and caught him as he stepped out from under the shower. I pushed him back, making him lean to the wall, as I planted a desperate kiss on his lips. “So you found out then.” he smiled softly. “All right. I’ll be your Nancy, or Mr. Call-me-anything, for a price.” I still held his face in my hand, and looked into those cold, cruel eyes of his. “You will let me do my work however the hell I want to.” he said. “And in return, you can have me anytime you want me.” I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d suddenly pull out a contract from nowhere, and ask me to sign right there, with my blood. Oh, and the small font part states that he owns my soul from now on. “I was always wondering how you comb your hair so the horns don’t show.” I answered, but against my better judgement, agreed. I felt I just made a terrible mistake, giving total control over to Simcoe, but I quickly forgot about it as soon as he dropped to his knees and loved me again. I spent the night at his place, repeating our mutual mistake over and over until both of us fell asleep from exhaustion. We went to work earlier than everyone else, to avoid rumours from spreading. I kept on looking at the lone biker from my rear-view mirror, following my car, and couldn’t help but feel some kind of fondness. As we both parked in the corporation building’s garage, I went over to John, and dragged him down to kiss him goodbye for the day. I no longer found his shower-gel to smell of heartache or depression. Today it felt different. The snake grew a new skin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Someone's about to tell Edmund the story of his lover and his horse...
> 
> Thank you guys for always coming back, I still appreciate any kind of feedback, kudos, comments, but - as usual - it's not mandatory. :D
> 
> Useless stuff no one's interested in:  
> \- Bampot is a scottish curseword meaning "a violent, deranged pr*ck".  
> \- A genre called "goblin metal" does exist. It's a mix between metal and punk, focusing around goblins, and stuff what goblins do. Mainly loot and destroy.  
> More info: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nekrogoblikon


	11. Poisoned Apple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simcoe tries to balance his controversial feelings by destroying Hewlett’s pet project. He also manages to drive a certain anger management coach near-insane. Abby knows everything. Mailroom Jerk strikes again!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!  
> You really wanted to know John's POV on the events of the last chapter, so here it is. :)  
> I switched the original order of chapters, so this one would be the next, but I aim to please. ;) The usual trigger warnings apply, and please forgive me, but I probably managed to write a certain scene in this chapter to be a complete disappointment.
> 
> On a different note, I think I'll take an opportunity to say that I will take a short break. I'm terribly sorry, and I will not leave you forever (I couldn't do that, I love you guys too much for that. ;D ), but I need some time off from writing or from doing anything at all.

In the meantime, go and give a read to [Hide + Seek](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6711946/chapters/15348808).

It needs all the love it can get, and even if modern AUs are not your cup of tea, (hey, you _are_ reading a modern AU right now, mind you) you'll like the complex and intriguing characters and political machinations in it. It's definitely among my top 3 fanfics, and I don't throw that term around lightly. (Ask any of my friends, they'll confirm that I rather fall into the hater category regarding fanfiction. Okay, maybe not lately, but I'm still picky as hell.) So, what are you waiting for?

Okay, sorry for the interruption. Now, back to John and his tale, before I take my leave:

* * *

 

Getting back to work felt much better after having to spend a week in the dark depths of the pit of hell called “mailroom.” Sadly, the little physical debate I had with Mailroom Jerk got out to the other divisions, and created a storm of rumours. It didn’t help, to say the least. I focused on finishing the decryption on Hewlett’s files, and kept an eye on Woodhull, but he must have a sort of weasel somewhere in his lineage, because he kept slipping out of my sight and my reach. So far, I had nothing against him, but a dead hard drive and another damaged computer. Hewlett came up with a method of “fortifying” the mainframe after my successful hacking attempt. He called the program “Gravestone”, and he held a short briefing for us, IT people about it the next morning. Needless to say, I was running on three cans of Red Bull and two hours of sleep that day because of his other project. I will not bore you with the technical details of Ed’s plan, but I knew it wasn’t going to work. I tried to communicate this towards him, but he was not going to budge. So we had one more project on our queue. I think I tell you nothing surprising when I say the new firewall was exceeding our expectations…in the negative way. I stood beside Ed on testing, and saw the major glitch and flood of error messages that was followed by an all-building blackout. “Umm… Reload?” I heard Ed say, then on a more confident tone “Reload when power is back! We need to get this thing working.” By “when power is back” Hewlett meant when I switched it back in the basement. I turned around and left to see the facility management, and drag them down with me to the spider and rat infested bowels of the office building, way below the parking levels, to where said facility management exiled the cleaning staff. I swear every time I had to visit there, I heard the voices of suffering spirits and former janitors, who got lost and probably perished in that maze. “I hope Hewlett gets shocked by a broken power outlet.” I grumbled while diddling with the switch. “It’s an image I had in my head for quite a while…” Several curse words later the power was restored to the building. That of course, didn’t mean we could put the flashlight away. I had to crawl my way back to the lobby, and to the office, where I was doomed to keep labouring on that heap of garbage Hewlett thought could work as defence against future attacks.

No need to say we ended up disagreeing. We disagreed loudly. Then he sent me back to work, while Woodhull snuck to his office past me. I wanted to know what they were talking about, so I went back, saying I had one more question. Edmund gestured for me to wait, while Woodhull was babbling something about a possible solution for our firewall problem. “Excuse me” I interrupted “Do you really need his advice? You do an excellent job of coordinating your division, now if you’d let them do what they’re paid for…” “My aim is to protect the company, not to cause more chaos.” Hewlett interrupted me. “We need all the help we can get.” “We know what we’re doing.” I insisted. “To let a third party know about the new coding is…” “I decide who should know about the code, Mr. Simcoe.” Hewlett silenced me again. “I may not be in computer science, but I know my numbers” Woodhull said. “That way you would have to work less and have a solid wall against attackers.” “I did my one year on law faculty as well, yet you don’t see me going over to your division and telling you how to do your job.” I objected. “Mr. Woodhull is not here to tell us how to do our jobs.” Hewlett defended. “Good, because I’d hate you to be the first executive of this division who got fired because his own stupidity.” I replied. “I don’t mean to be intrusive.” Woodhull turned back to Hewlett, and tried to ignore my mere existence, which I didn’t want to let him. “You just came down and stuck your nose in our business out of what? Altruism? I can’t decide if you’re an idiot or you take us for fools.” “Mr. Hewlett, sir, I just really wanted to help you out.” the little weasel said. “I’m only concerned about the company.” “Your concern is none of ours.” I said, but Hewlett sided with the little rodent. “Enough! You make it so I cannot hear myself think.” I guess this was the part when my blood pressure raised into the red level. “You said your crew is overworked.” Woodhull carried on. “I merely suggest a different algorhythm from the one you used.” “And you give your word that nobody else will know about this?” Hewlett asked, and I was afraid if I stay with eye-rolling, my eyes would fall out from their sockets. So I went “Giving his word means nothing! If we go through with this, and he knows the source code, we might just well post it everywhere in the building! It would be a serious security loophole!” “You should keep your opinion to yourself, Mr. Simcoe.” Hewlett riposted. “And even better, respect your superior’s judgement on matters.” “Oh, I would respect your judgement on matters…” I said on levelled voice “… If you weren’t a bloody idiot!” “That is enough Mr. Simcoe. Get out of my office, at once!” Oyster stood up to try and stare into my eye. “With pleasure!” I hissed back and shoved Woodhull out of my way as I went out to the corridor, and slammed the door behind me. I couldn’t help but scream for at least a minute straight.

Oh yea, I guess they had a reason to send me to anger management. Later that day I got a text from Abigail, from HR. It read “Meet me in the kitchen”, so off I went, to meet up with her. She was leaning to the cupboard, and closed the door after I stepped in. “What the hell was that John?” she asked. I blinked. “What was what?” She gave me a frustrated look. “A whole bunch-a people saw you yellin’ your lungs out in front of Hew’s office this morning.” Ah, that. “You know, standing in front of your boss’ office and yelling FUCK from the top of your lungs for at least a minute is much cheaper than therapy.” I tried to BS her. Of course, it was good ‘ol Abby. The girl who taught me a lesson or two about sass. I knew what was coming for me. She took a deep breath, and began to verbally smash me until I become one with the linoleum. “Boy! You know what else’s cheaper than therapy? Admitting that you’re batshit crazy and going with it! Got two nice young girls coming here for a job interview today. Then they saw you howlin’, asked how long you been here, and when I told them it’s been four years, they both stood up and went home like there’s no tomorrow.” I furrowed my brow and flinched. “Ow. Sorry about that.” Abby wagged her index finger in my face. “No Simcoe, you’re not sorry. You’ll be sorry after what’s coming for you.” Umm… Yikes? “You know I was already sentenced to anger management. I don’t know what worse can you come up with.” I riposted. “Uh-huh. You ain’t see nothin’ yet. You better learn to control yourself on that therapy, ‘cause if I ever lose a possible employee because of yo shenanigans again, I’m gonna get medieval on yo ass*.” I couldn’t help but grin, even if what she implied was nothing to be glad about. “What will Akinbode say?” I asked, still grinning like a prat. “I will tell him it’s for the greater good, and he’ll even help me with that.” I laughed. “I’m serious John. You’ll be cryin’ like a babe.” “See you tomorrow, Abby.” I told her and was about to leave, but she stopped me. “You work too much; you know?” I looked back at her. “I know.” She shook her head. “Come over at Friday! I’ll make food, you and Aki can watch hockey or soccer, or whatever. Chill. You need it, boy.” I was about to protest, but her grip on my arm got tighter. “You need it. You give everyone the heebie-jeebies, and you better get some friends to chill with before you’ll have nothing else left.” I nodded and left her. I had plenty of work to do, and thanks to Woodhull, my already heavy load was tripled.

I stayed in the office overnight, and buried myself in work. I was tired. I wanted nothing more than to get under my blanket, let Mercy snuggle up beside me, and listen to her purring until I fall asleep. But I had a firewall, a security system with the barely-pronounceable name of a horse, and even an investigation on my plate. As things stood at the moment, the next time I will lay my head down on a pillow will be on the same day when someone puts me in a coffin. I looked at my trembling hands, and seriously had second thoughts about that gajillionth can of energy drink I was about to send down my throat. I put on some music instead, and carried on with my work. Around one or two in the morning, I heard Hewlett coming back to his office. I turned up the volume on Overlord, that was growling and screeching in my speakers, to keep me from falling asleep. Before you judge, my music taste is all over the place, and I don’t particularly prefer one genre to another, but when I really needed to get off steam, or something loud to keep me awake, I always chose metal. And what I knew about Overlord was that they had the sound quality of a broken record, and the speed of a highly caffeinated squirrel with a machine gun. Put on appropriate volume, these lads could wake even the dead. I heard their album was banned in some countries because it was suitable for use in interrogations, and human rights activists went insane just by getting a few seconds sample of their art. In one word: Perfect. I wasn’t keen on talking with Hewlett, but he was heading towards me. The Overlord said “The weak must perish”, so I gave the volume a little boost. See if he can handle it. “You stayed here?” he asked. “I didn’t really have much choice.” I replied. “You sent me to that damned anger management session tomorrow…” I took a glance at the clock, and corrected myself “… sorry today, so I had to stay and finish my job. So if you don’t mind, I’d really like to be left alone now.” The Overlord sang to me about war, pain, hate and sorrow I didn’t want to share with anyone else. Oyster stood in front of me, and watched me work simultaneously on both his ridiculous pet project and the stillborn firewall with the source code Woodhull recommended. I got immersed in the ones and zeros, so it took me off-guard, when Hewlett spoke. “Actually I wanted to talk with you.” I knew what he wanted to talk about. It bothered me too. “Go ahead.” I answered. The goblins razed a village, and I wrote another row of numbers into the code. “I think it would be better if we could talk somewhere private.” For fuck’s sake… “Could we talk in my office?” Hewlett asked timidly, and made me roll my eyes. I swear that my eyes are in the best shape of all of my body. I do at least a thousand rolls with them every day. “Come on Ed, there’s no one here but the two of us. You can tell me whatever you want to, here.” He looked around and went “Do you think they know… About us?” I didn’t have a clue. Regardless, I put the best confident mask I had on my face, and replied to him accordingly. “If they know about us or not is of no importance. They need their job, so they won’t betray me.” Seeing his concerned expression made me add “And they definitely won’t betray you either.” It must be exhaustion, but no matter the fight we had the previous day, I felt some warmth in the vicinity of the black hole in the centre of my chest. When he asked me how do I know it, I just smiled. To be honest, I wasn’t sure. But I wasn’t going to let him see it.

Morning came, and I left the office and went home, to take a shower and get some sleep before I had to appear in front of the anger management class. Oh boy, I didn’t want to go. But I had to. I managed to get stuck in traffic and got late a bit. The place looked like it was stuck in a time loop of the 1960’s, and the residents surely loved flower patterns. And bead curtains instead of doors. After I successfully freed myself from a trap woven from laces of transparent glass beads sparkling in all of the colours of the rainbow, I stepped into a small lobby of sorts. There were kitschy statues and paintings all over in colours and formations that someone decided to be “soothing”, and some uncomfortable looking, not-so-contemporary-anymore chairs. I studied a painting, and tried to find any clue about why would someone declare anything like this as “art”, when someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around, and saw a woman who looked like she was part of the furniture. “Welcome!” Miss Flowerpower greeted. “You must be Mr. Simcoe! Or is it Mr. Graves? Can I call you John? As you’ll see, we’re like a big family here, and I’m sure you’ll love it.” I didn’t even have time to answer, she was talking like rapid fire, while grabbing my arm, and dragging me with her. We entered through another web of tinkling metallic and beady ornaments, and I saw the other unfortunate souls, damned to suffer in this pit of hell decorated with pink blossoms. “Class, this is John. Let’s say hello to him, shall we?” The four other blokes said “Hello” in chorus. I wanted to turn around and leave. “John, would you sit and share your story with us?” Miss Flowerpower asked. “Well, not really.” I answered honestly. “Your superiors sent you here, because you did bad things.” she turned to her prisoners and back to me. “You physically insulted some of your co-workers, and shouted at your direct superior.” I rolled my eyes. “Just how long will this session last?” I asked. “Just as long as you make it.” The bipedal plant answered. “Brilliant.” I turned to the other vegetables and went “Gentlemen, it was nice to almost meet you. Cheers!” and was about to leave, but there was something that eluded me. Namely that Miss Flowerpower had a black belt in some martial art that involved hitting some nerves in her opponent’s body that renders them numb. After I doubled over, she shoved me into one of those godawful looking chairs. Bloody hell. This will be a long day. 

I have been to therapy for a long period of my life. I always established dominance with my therapists by making them cry first. Of course my goal was the same in this case as well. I have to admit I underestimated Miss Flowerpower. “Sit, dear!” she scolded me like I was but a toddler. “You see, you’ll be staying here and coming back until I inform your boss that your anger management issues are over.” Well, shit. “I guess I can sit here then.” I nodded. After she made all the other members of her small cult retell the tale of their condemnation to this special level of hell, she asked us to talk about our emotions. I made my seven hundredth eye-roll that day. “Is ‘fuck this shit’ an emotion?” I asked “Because I feel it deeply in my soul.” Miss Flowerpower flashed a dirty look at me. “John, language!” I stood her gaze with my expressionless mask on. “Excuse me.” I said. Then repeated the question in German. The grey areas in Miss Flowerpower’s hair widened that day, I can assure you all about that. “Take this seriously!” she advised me, so I pretended to be a good boy, but after another half hour of small talk, I started to feel physical pain from keeping my sarcastic comments in. “Talk about my happy place? Sure! My happy place is where nobody asks me stupid questions, and I’m allowed to punch idiots in the throat. Also there are cats and free cake and tea.” Miss Flowerpower had that tired look on her face that indicated that this ridiculous waste of time will be over soon. “John, please stop joking.” “What makes you think I’m joking?" It went like this, for hours. I really started to enjoy it, no joke. I had my suspicions about her report to Ed of this session, but I couldn’t care less. I was happy to drive home, and hit the shower.

It was around five in the afternoon, and all of my numbness and exhaustion faded temporarily. I just finished with dressing up after that shower when I heard the knock on my door. It was Ed. He was upset about something. My guess was the anger management class report, but I wouldn’t dare to even think about the real cause. Hewlett pulled a crumpled piece of paper out from his pocket. I instantly recognised it as the one Mailroom Jerk threw into the bin. If Miss Flowerpower would be here, and asking me about my emotions, I could easily list at least five for her. Fear. Anxiety. Shame. Relief. And something soft and unreliable. Also, add surprise as a bonus when Edmund grabbed my shirt and kissed me. I honestly didn’t expect that. After all what happened that day, I was prepared for a fight, but not for truce. He shoved me on my back, and pulled my jeans off. We made the same mistake. Two worlds collided, despite both our better judgement. After we were done and blood went back to my brain from my reproductional organs, I couldn’t help, but ask Ed what he wanted with all of this. No matter how collected and cold I might seem, I just didn’t know what to do. I asked him in hopes that he might have the confidence I lacked in the moment. After all, he came over to my place, and ripped my pants off just because of a half-assed poem I scribbled in my lunch break? Come on, I’m not going to believe that. He must have some motive. And I wanted to know. Also… I had to admit that crumpling the bedsheets with Ed wasn’t so bad, and I would be down with it if he’d only want me for that purpose. That’s why I decided to break my own rules, and make an offer. He can canoodle with me any time, if he lets me do my work unmolested. It’s fair trade, a win-win situation. He agreed. I was surprised again. He stayed with me until the morning. I found myself thinking, while following Ed’s car back to the office. Just what did we get ourselves into? I still didn’t know his hidden motive behind his sudden displays of affection towards me, and I seriously had doubts. We had barely anything in common. I had no such traits, either physical or of character that would appeal to someone like Ed. Yet he wanted me for some reason, and I intended to find out what. It can’t be just chemistry. Or sudden realisation of his feelings after reading my pitiful attempt at poetry. Nevertheless, I enjoyed his company, and wouldn’t object to his approaches. It was still very early when we parked in the office building’s garage, and Edmund came over to my bike, and pulled the collar of my leather jacket to kiss me goodbye. I waited until he went up to the office, and followed a few minutes later. We didn’t want to raise attention. 

I could say that work was a little bit more pleasant, especially because Ed stayed out of my way. I tried to gather evidence for the corporate spying, and found a concerning number of security breaches, and even damaged hardware. Also, no physical records of these. Even when I found some records or data, it usually turned out to be falsified or otherwise tampered with. I went to report my findings to Hewlett, but he – as always – dismissed me again. “It’s just hearsay.” he told me. Again. “Though I have no doubt that there is something fishy with the constant malfunctions of the company’s computers, I suspect dated hardware, and not corporate spying. Let it go.” Gee, thanks a lot Elsa. “Then what do you need me to do?” I gave in. It looked like I have to present some solid evidence to my claim if I wouldn’t want to be forced to stand aside. “We have only a week to complete the Bucephalus project.” Ed replied. “And don’t get me wrong, I know you were busy with other projects, but I’d like you to focus your full energy on that project from now.” I nodded. Hewlett moved on. “There will be a test run of it next Tuesday. With all the bigheads, so I count on you.” He patted my arm. I gave him a smile, and assured him that I will do my best, and left. My plan was hatching. And the shape of it would put any ancient Greek mythological monster to shame.

So I spent my days working on that massive warhorse of a program, and my evenings at Anna’s pub, writing another code. Actually, I reminded myself why I liked to be there. I needed to distance myself from everyone, but most importantly Edmund. So I tried to make amends with Anna after our little disagreement a few days ago. I was neck deep in work, but still offered her help with some crates she wanted to take to the storage and another that went to her office in the back of the pub. We even talked a few times. Or more likely, I tried to communicate and she was answering in basic sentences. One night I had enough of that. I cornered her and asked the question that kept bothering me ever since I got to know her. “Why are you afraid of me?” She appeared to be shaken. “It’s just a simple question Mrs. Strong.” She held her chin up, and her dark eyes took a spark that could set the whole town on fire. “First of all, back away!” I didn’t. “Answer the question, and I will.” I said instead. “Very well. I’m afraid of you, because you give me a very good reason to. Be glad that I didn’t report you to the police for sneaking around my office and taking things from there.” I was about to object, and explain to her that it was a single occasion, and I didn’t take anything at all, but she interrupted. “You just can’t seem to take no for an answer. Maybe it appeals to whatever sick shrews you date online, but not for me.” “I don’t date anyone online…” I felt my face flush. So much for not looking like a scolded teenager. Dammit. “What, did you think stalking after me will make you look less of a psycho? Dude, you have issues. And I’m not your mommy to take care of them for you.” She was cruel. “It was a very rude thing to say.” I defended. “Or you’re just not used to hearing the truth from people you can bully and intimidate.” she hissed. Then she gave me one final stab in my heart. “I have a pub to run, so I will be blunt: I don’t love you. And I never will. So if you want anything from me, you better take it by force! At least I expect it to be quick!” I hit the wall next to her, and that made her shut up. I was no saint, that’s true. I did some questionable stuff too. But one thing was always below me, and it was to defile the honour of a lady. It made my blood boil to hear her assume something like that about me. “You’re wrong.” I managed to say after I regained my voice. “Am I?” she asked. “What would you say if you’d catch someone in your room without your permission, and not only once? What would you call someone so persistent that your stomach cramps by the mere sight of them?” I didn’t want to level my voice or to interrupt her, but I did both. “And what would you call someone who gladly accepts any help you can offer, and sends you off with a frown when they have no more use of you? Because that’s what I’d call a selfish cunt.” I was never sobered by anything so fast than regret. Her tears began to fall, and I began to apologise immediately. “Anna, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…” A slap landed on my face. I couldn’t say I didn’t deserve it though. “Get out!” she shouted at me, voice trembling and eyes filled with tears. I held her close instead. “I’m sorry.” I kept saying. Then I heard footsteps, and turned around to face Edmund. “Anna, is there a problem?” She shoved me away and ran to him, kissing his cheek, and not even glancing behind. “I was about to leave anyway.” I managed to say and did so, only leaving a sum for my tab and for the damaged door on the counter.

It hurt me. A lot. I was drinking alone that night, leaving my laptop and my sanity at home on a shelf. I was never expected to see Edmund again, especially after the events of the evening just a few hours ago. “John, I must say something to you.” He told me over the phone. I was at a night club, so I barely heard him over the loud and droning electronic music. “Where are you anyway?” I heard Oyster ask. I told him. He came, and dragged me out to the alley. “I told Anna I’m sorry.” I said, a bit swaying from the generous amount of alcohol and energy drinks I consumed in the past hours. “I know, I’m not here to talk about her.” Hewlett said. “Are you drunk again? It’s a miracle your liver is still working!” he tried to balance me by pushing me to the wall. I chuckled and went “Why do you care? Tell me, O Prince of all Oysters, why do the fate of this bloody unbearable fuck interests you so?” He stuttered, and was about to answer, but I didn’t let him. “Does it feel good, huh? To see me suffer?” I leaned closer and hissed “I hate you.” Ed just gave me a dirty look, and his offended owl face. I kept on ranting. “Why did you have to go and take everything I ever had and wanted?” Edmund looked me in the eye, and I have to give him that he didn’t even flinch. “I could forgive you taking away my only chance for a promotion. I could forgive you for being a nuisance and for making my work like hell… But Anna…” I choked on the words that were about to escape into the cool night air, and verbally punch Hewlett in the face. Instead he leaned closer. “Anna doesn’t love you.” Just like that. In my face. “But I do.” In that moment, rage left and made way to confusion. “Excuse me, what?” I asked, and made an awkward grin. I was close to laugh hysterically, which was a bad habit of mine, whenever I was shocked. It happened quite rarely, I must add. “I do…Love you, John.” Oh, hell no. Edmund turned away from me, and I did start to laugh, completely aware of the fact that I’m about to lose my “cold-hearted psycho” reputation. “I uh… I think I better go now.” I heard Hewlett stutter, and I was about to stop him, but couldn’t. “I’m sorry.” I whined. “I definitely got the wrong impression.” I managed to say while still laughing. Hewlett walked away, and I was holding my hurting side for a while. I think I owe you a confession about my views regarding love. Though I believe that love in its many forms exist, and being loved and to love someone is just as much among my desires as any man’s, I come from a place where love is seen as an asset at best, weakness at worst. It is soft, unlike fear. Love can be used against you. You become too gullible, too weak. Your loved ones easily can become targets. Yes, I believe in love. But I don’t believe it is for me. I don’t believe it would ever work for me. Not because of Anna, I got the raspberry before, and survived, but… Her rejection was just another nail in the coffin of my naïve notion of me being worthy of someone’s affection, which passes through the physical nature. Ed said he loves me. I guess he does. He does love being near me, he loves being with me, sleeping with me, but he does not love… well, me. Knowing the irredeemable romantic he was, he loved the idea of being in love… Not unlike myself. The difference between us is, that he has yet to awaken to the harsh reality of the world around us, and that his idea of love doesn’t exist.

Then, Friday came and with it, my obligation to show up at my so-called friends’ house, holding a pack of beer and a box of chocolate for the lady. I really didn’t want her to set me on fire, I got way too many burns for the week, thank you. Abby opened the door, and looked at me like she was seeing a ghost. “You look like shit man.” she commented. “Why thank you Abigail, I was just looking for someone to point it out.” I answered. “Good to know you’re still the Sass-quatch I used to know.” she joked, and shepherded me inside. “Akinbode has some extra homework, but he’ll be along shortly.” she commented, while putting the beers and the chocolate to the fridge and the cupboard respectively. “Why don’t you sit down?” I obeyed, and occupied one of the chairs around the dinner table she was pointing to. “Want some tea?” I shook my head. Abby started to prepare some for herself then, and was casually chatting with me. “So how’s life lately? You’ve been working your ass off.” “Pretty much.” I answered. “It’s just the usual, boring work and keeping up with Oyster.” “About that…” she raised her index finger, while pouring water from the tap “I heard some juicy rumours about you.” I scoffed. “Nah. Don’t pay much attention to them.” “Oh, but I want to know the story right from the source, so…” Abigail turned to me with her cup in hand, gesturing towards the electronic kettle. "Are you in love with Ed?" I couldn't help, but laugh. "Love?" I asked back "Try Stockholm Syndrome." She looked surprised, but sadly carried on with her little interrogation regarding my love life. "You surely spend hell of a lot of time together for it to be simply a work-relationship." I shook my head. "Oh, the usual assumption. He's a slave driver, I tell you. Be glad that it's illegal nowadays." Abby squinted at me. "I'm not buying it John. You sound fishy, boy. You know that." I grinned at her, but inside I wanted to scream. "Sorry to burst your bubble Abby, but the only thing between me and Eddie are the differences of our age, height, and competence regarding hardware problems." The woman still looked at me with the "I don't buy your BS man" face. "You know, Manny from accounting saw the two of you a few days ago... Very early in the morning, there’s still not a lot of people hanging around the company’s parking lot..." she commented, casually placing the bomb on the table. I held my hands up and said "Fine, you got me." She wanted to say something, but I interrupted with the hopeful red herring. "I followed Eddie to the parking lot, and even carried a hammer in my backpack, because I was going to nail him. But it doesn't matter, because you already know. Might as well announce it properly now." Seeing the look on Abby's face made me lose it. I chuckled, and she hit my arm. "Idiot." she said. Her spouse and my sometimes drinking partner Akinbode chose this very moment to step into the kitchen. "Hey there, what's so funny?" he asked, I turned to him, while Abby was occupied with her tea again. "Your wife wanted to drop the gay-bomb on me." I complained. She raised her head "He confessed it!" she stated and went back to pour hot water to a pile of unfortunate tea leaves. "Under what measure of torture?" Akinbode asked. "I just presented the facts everyone in the office gathered." Abby answered. "Someone's reading too much fanfiction." I mumbled. "It all makes sense." Abigail stated. "Edmund is too awkward around women, you never had a girlfriend either..." "Hey hey hey, I had a girlfriend!" I interrupted. Both Abby and Akinbode looked at me with the same expression. "Lola wasn't your girlfriend." the male part of the household said. "She's a hooker." I pulled myself up and made a mildly offended face. "She was my girlfriend _before_ she became a hooker." I added. Abby shook her head. "That's not something you should be proud of, John." she said. "But, as I said, it all makes sense." I rolled my eyes. “Abby, please…” She dropped the subject, and we drank our respective teas and beers. The rest of the afternoon went by with me and Akinbode mostly bantering and talking about sports both of us were interested in. Abigail went back to the living room to help Cicero with his homework, only coming back to us to say goodbye to me, when I left in the evening. “Shall I escort you to your mechanical mount, sir?” she asked jokingly, and I nodded and let her hold my arm. “You know John, I also work at public relations, and manage the company’s press.” she said casually. “Everyone knows, or believes to know about you and Hewlett.” I looked at her, but all the bollocks I wanted to tell her slipped back to the back of my mind. “Do you think I might get in trouble because of that?” I asked. Abby smiled, and let me go, as I sat on the saddle of my bike and took my helmet in my hands. “You guys are perfect for each other.” she said. “One of you just have to be brave enough to admit it.” I sighed, and shook my head. “Good night, Abby.” put my helmet on, and kick-started the engine. I didn’t want to shatter her naïve notion about this unlikely love-affair between me and my superior. After what I was about to do, I had no doubt Hewlett would never want to see my face again, if - and it was a big if - he ever finds out it was me. 

I told you before that I had a plan. I spent a lot of time working on it, and I was about to set it in motion. I went back to work from Abby’s, and knew it will not be suspicious, because of the short deadline we had on the project. I also took a flash drive with me. It was different, though looked identical to the one Hewlett gave me. I said goodbye to the co-workers going home, and sat in front of my computer, and started to work. I was coding for a solid three hours, until every single soul went far away, so there were no witnesses. I accessed the security cameras and changed the footage so it will show only me working, then went over to Oyster’s office. I opened his office door effortlessly and closed it behind me, to avoid any light escaping and alerting the security. I turned his machine on, and started his copy of the project, and accessed the contents of the flash drive. It was a virus, my greatest creation so far. I named it “poisoned apple”. I opened the folder, and copied the virus into the source code of the Bucephalus project. To explain some things, I needed Ed’s machine for it, because it acted like the server, and the virus could reach each and every copy of the program from there, fairly unnoticed. I knew the rest of the IT team will work on the project tomorrow, so the poison will have plenty of time to take effect. And I will be nowhere near, so above any suspicion. After the uploading and infecting had been done, I turned Ed’s computer off, put my flash drive in my pocket, and snuck back to my own desk. I even locked Ed’s office again. I changed the log files to erase evidence of my tampering with Hewlett’s computer, and changed the camera footage back to online, and worked for about another hour before calling it a day and went home. I was sure that I covered my tracks. Hewlett wanted evidence of the corporate spy, and I was willing to give him that.

Saturday found me with absolutely no will left to live. I didn’t even want to human. I looked at Mercy, and wanted to cat. Lying in a pool of warm sunlight. I only needed someone to pet me sometime and bring me some snacks. But alas, I had work to do, and got a thousand texts from Ed I was hesitating to answer. I remembered him saying “I love you”, and felt my resolve waning. I was lying awake at night, thinking that I might just reverse what I did. That I shouldn’t do it. Then found the voice which guided me through my darkest times, saying I can’t be weak. I must go through with whatever I started. I cannot allow my naivety to override my rationality. In this world, it’s either you kill or you get killed. There’s no other way. There’s no happy ending. I felt the water cooling my burning eyes after my usual nightmare. I hated idle weekends.

Gladly Monday came faster than I thought, and I was back at my desk again, diddling with yet another broken computer, and Baker’s new ID card validation. I didn’t even hear the footsteps coming towards my direction. It was Mailroom Jerk, who stopped in front of my desk with a hardcover book in his hand. “Sorry, I’m not interested in hearing about your lord and saviour.” I said, barely even looking at him. “Well, that’s funny, considering the war you started.” he replied. I raised my head, and had to suppress a chuckle seeing his face. “What do you want?” I asked, maybe a bit too cheerfully for my own good. Mailroom Jerk shoved his book in my face. I took it, and my laughter just became uncontrollable anymore. The book was titled “ _Size doesn’t matter: A guide to live a full life with micropenis_ ”. I couldn’t breathe I was laughing so hard. Mailroom Jerk took it as proof of my guilt. “So it was you!” I managed to shake my head, but needed a few more seconds to be able to speak. “No. It wasn’t me.” I panted. “Then why are you laughing?” he asked, prompting me to snicker again. “Because whoever sent you this book is a bloody genius!” Oh he was mad; I could see that. I didn’t know who was behind that book prank, but I’d give my leg for an opportunity to congratulate them. My day was made right there. Also I had a reason I could give when people asked me why I was in such good spirits. Ed was nowhere to be found, probably on the testing session with the higher-ups. I only met him long after lunch break. He came directly to me, and looked very upset. Showtime! "Oh dear, what have they done to you?" I asked him, hopefully with enough concern to look authentic. Hewlett's expression was priceless. "It was you isn't it?" he asked. I took my best faux-innocent face and answered. "I don't think I know what you mean." He was irate. It felt good. So good I could barely manage to keep a straight face. But I had to be authentic. "Someone undermined our project, effectively killing it. The code... There was something with it. It was erratic, like all the work we've done so far was suddenly disappeared." He looked at me while explaining. "Someone must have hacked into it and installed a virus." I said, trying my best to be convincing. Ed was still looking at me with the same suspicion in his beady eyes. "You do not seem much surprised...Or for that matter disturbed at all." "Oh, but I am." I riposted with slight umbrage on my face "Disturbed. I just hope your paranoia isn't contagious, I have enough problems already." His usual jaw-clenching and some more squinting later he dropped the topic. It was time for the coup-de-grace. "You seriously think I would ruin all the work I did for more than a month, just to screw you over?" I shook my head in disbelief. "Shame on you! After all the over-hours I spent on it, Whateverus was my kid too!" Ed cast a flat glance at me. "Bucephalus." he corrected. I rolled my eyes so hard I'd be checking out my own ass if it would be physically possible. "I keep forgetting." I added. And it seemed that Oyster believed me. He shepherded me inside his office, and stopped to look me in the eye. “I made a mistake when I didn’t believe you.” he stated. “Really now?” I asked, giving the usual sarcastic tone. “Find that spy!” Hewlett ordered. “Or whoever was the culprit in this case. By any means necessary!” I smiled at him. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Abe does the spying thing, Anna gets tangled in her own web, and wants out. Eastin gets busted.  
> \- The argument in the office was heavily based on the events of TURN's S01E10, context and dialogue tweaked to fit this fic's narrative. Some dialogues were also taken from the show's season 2, various episodes.  
> \- I sincerely apologise to anyone, who found "Sassy Black Lady" Abigail offensive. It was not my intention, but I admit that if there is a character archetype that I like, this one would be it. (Well, you know... sass.)  
> \- Prat is a synonym for Idiot.  
> \- *I don't know if there's any other explanations of this slang, but here, by saying "going to get medieval on your ass", Abby means she'll going to set Simcoe's rear end on fire. Possibly with a torch. Ow.  
> \- I also do not know if there really is a band called "Overlord", or if they play the horrible goblin metal I will be thrice damned to even mention, but here they exist, and they do. (The name "Overlord" is also a shoutout for another role Sam played in the dark fantasy movie "Solomon Kane".)
> 
> Thank you guys for keep coming back, for all the comments, kudos and feedback. I guess I'd vanished into oblivion sooner without you. ^^  
> I don't know when will I post the next chapter, but I hope it will not be too long. Maybe a week or two. I'm sorry, and thank you for bearing with me!


	12. Interrupt Nr.3: High Noon in Killville

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abe does what he needs to do in order to keep his spying mission secret, while getting some information about Simcoe's plans. Anna wants out, and sees an opportunity in a heartbroken Hewlett.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!  
> It took me quite a while, isn't it? Well, I'm terribly sorry, and I hope I can keep my usual rate of posting speed with this story (or at least a decent one). I had a big writer's block, among other things, so writing was a hard labour for me for a long while. But I'm here, and our warnings for this chapter are: murder, cursewords, office pranks, also dubious intentions regarding of giving comfort to someone in a weak emotional state.  
> Also, this chapter might be short, annoying, and the beginning of the decline in quality... I hope not though. Rest assured, there's only one such transitory chapter remains in the whole story. Still, I'm sorry for the disappointment.

“There’s an emergency.” Abe heard from the other end of the line. “You’ll have to retrieve a certain batch of prescription bottles with anti-depressants _. Our kind_ of anti-depressants.” It took him a few moments to remember what his correspondence was hinting at, but he finally got the clue. “You also have to destroy any and all evidence of your activity. You’re close to being compromised.” Abe shook his head but the person on the other end of the line couldn’t see it. “I’ve provided some decoys.” he explained. “I can finish the mission, no need to evacuate.” The voice over the line stayed silent for a while before speaking again. “Very well. But you need better plans. Agent 355 will provide sufficient blackmail material. Contact Signal when the deed is done, so 725 can send your new objectives.” Abe heard Wakefield and some other co-workers approaching, so he changed his tone. “Umm, of course Ma’am, I will look into it. Would you like a new appointment with our legal department? Right, 3:55. I’ll be waiting. Goodbye!”

After he hung up, Wakefield and the head mailroom clerk stopped close to him. He could hear them arguing over something he at first paid no mind to, but his attention got raised by the mailroom clerk mentioning a name he used as a swear-word for a long time. “It must have been Simcoe.” Abe raised his head and pretended to do some paperwork while eavesdropping on Wakefield and the other man. “What makes you think that?” The mailroom clerk explained lengthily to Wakefield about his ordeal with the man in question, not leaving one small detail out of his tale. “You can come see what his next act of revenge was.” He gestured towards Wakefield, Abe, and a few other colleagues of the Legal Department. Abe shrugged, and stood up. “You see, I think I can offer some legal advice how could you force him to stop pranking you.” he commented. He then followed Wakefield and company to the mailroom.

 

The latest prank was something that exceeded Abe’s expectations. He was staring at the small, neon-green post-it stuck on the monitor of the senior clerk. The single curse word - _“Douchebag”_ \- on it wouldn’t raise his attention, but the calligraphic design in which it was written surely did. All mailroom personnel gathered around and sneered or snickered at it. “Well, I have to admit that I never saw it written in such a beautiful way.” Abe commented to the man next to him, who looked like he’s close to getting a stroke. One thing was obvious for Woodhull though. The handwriting wasn’t Simcoe’s. “Are you sure you have no other enemies, or people who would take advantage on your feud with Simcoe and make their own pranks disguised as his?” he couldn’t help but ask. The senior clerk shook his head. Abe was about to take the note, but he suddenly heard a familiar falsetto, from his nightmare. “What a waste of splendid calligraphy. It should be made into a t-shirt.” Abe smiled and turned to face Simcoe, who towered over him. “Would you wear it?” The taller man sneered. “No I’d leave that to the likes of Mailroom Jerk and you, Woodhull.” Simcoe took the note and crammed it into his pocket, then left without another word. Abe felt relieved. He went to the Human Resources division to talk about some necessary leave. He had to prepare to do his real job.

 

* * *

 

In the meantime, Anna was looking at the wall of her office absently. She swore she could see the mark John’s fist left in the cardboard siding. The man no longer frequented her pub, and she was relieved, but at the same time, smarted by his words still. Simcoe called her selfish, only using him and other people, and she had to give him that he was right to some degree. Part of her wanted to seek him out, to knock on his door and make amends, tell him why she is the way she is, but the other, more rational part told her that his opinion, or anyone else’s opinion doesn’t matter. She was here for a purpose, and she had to step on and over anyone who opposed her to fulfil that purpose. The unpleasant mental image of the tall redhead was chased away by another man’s. A smaller, much warmer man’s, who just walked in from the afternoon rain. Hewlett shook his umbrella, and swiped a few drops of water from his sleeves, then approached the bar. Anna never ran from her office so fast to ask how may she help a customer before. She saw the dark circles around Edmund’s eyes, and – though having suspicions about their cause – asked him if there’s something wrong. “Have you ever been rejected so badly you couldn’t get over it for days?” Hewlett asked after a long silence. Anna remembered when Abe came to her to declare his engagement to Mary, thus ending their own. She couldn’t sleep or eat for that matter, for days to come, only having some sort of consolation from his then friend, later husband, Selah. She smiled bitterly and nodded. “If anyone, I understand how that feels. Want to talk about it?” she asked, pouring another glass of dry red wine for Edmund. She took a glance at the clock, and decided it was time for her to join in with a glass of her own. “I went after John the night you were fighting.” Edmund played with his glass, circling on its top with his index finger. “He was in a night club, drunk and probably on some drugs, and I wanted to strangle him for being deliberately oblivious to his health.” Anna doubted this was the reason for Hewlett’s depression. He sighed, took a swig from his wine, and carried on. “I told him something stupid, Anna. Now I don’t even know why I said it, but I told him that I love him…” Anna also took a swig from her wine. This was starting to get interesting. “So? What did he say?” she asked. Edmund shook his head, drank his wine, and put the glass on the counter before answering. “He laughed at me. I don’t think he even comprehended what I just told him, and I hope he already forgotten.” Anna made a disapproving hum. “That’s good ‘ole John Simcoe for you. Not uncharacteristic for him at all.” she commented and refilled Hewlett’s glass. She had a plan forming in her head. All she needed was more information about that fateful night. So she kept the wine and with it, the words coming.

* * *

 

It was early in the morning, not a soul was in the lab besides Eastin. He still couldn’t believe what he found. As always, he didn’t really want to know what kind of shady business Simcoe got himself into, but he needed to tell him about his findings. He looked at the clock on the wall next to the lab door, and decided it was too early, John probably was still asleep or on his way to work. Either way, not suitable for a phone call. He sat down to the computer, and began to write an e-mail for him. He attached some documents and pictures about his research. Whoever was the one who poisoned Joyce, these documents could serve as evidence against them. Eastin heard something, so he stopped before hitting “send”. There was someone at the door. It was still dark outside, and he couldn’t really see, but he was sure that the person wasn’t with security or for that matter, didn’t work in the lab. He rose up and went to investigate. “Excuse me, this part of the facility is restricted to employees only!” he said, but there was no one in the corridor. Eastin shrugged and went back to the lab. His instincts told him that something is amiss. He looked around, and suddenly felt a sting and push, that made him fall over. The last thing he saw before closing his eyes forever, was a small man rushing towards the computer, and deleting the e-mail he was about to send to Simcoe.

 

Abe was in panic. He was prepared to shoot Eastin, but not to the nausea and the urge to run away as fast as he could. He almost forgot about the pill bottle and the e-mail with the damning evidence. He deleted everything he found regarding the “anti-depressant” his superiors were worried about, and took all the papers and research data he could find. After he was done, he hastily retreated from the crime scene. He didn’t notice the worn old car parking not too far away from the facility.

 

* * *

Anna was thinking about all the things she learned from Edmund the night before. The man was a goldmine for information, and his trust was easy to gain. Yet she felt bad for some reason. Abe rushed in, long before her business hours, and asked for a glass of her strongest whiskey. “Is there something wrong?” she asked, not for the first time that day. “I… The deed is done.” Abe replied, and drank the contents of his glass. “Could you put some ice to the next one?” he asked while she poured another round. The clanking sound of frozen water meeting glass unnerved him for some unknown reason. “I think I call in sick today.” he sighed. “Do you have everything Caleb can deliver back to Ben?” Anna asked after letting Abe cool his burning head with the glass of ice and some whiskey. “Pardon? Oh yes, I have the documents and the bottle. Here.” he slid a dossier and the bottle to Anna on her desk. “Good. Go home, have some rest!” she patted his shoulder. “We have to do something about Simcoe though.” Abe commented, still seeking to calm his nerves with the ice. “It was he, who started to investigate Joyce’s death.” Anna nodded. “I’ll tell Caleb. He’ll get rid of him.” Abe looked at Anna for a while before asking “How about Hewlett? Did you get any info out of the man yet?” Anna stared at the wall, again looking at the mark Simcoe’s fist left in her siding, and her dignity. “I learned that Hewlett has some unexplainable infatuation with his unruly subordinate. Unrequited so far.” Abe nodded. “Good. That’s something we can use against him.” Anna wasn’t sure what to feel or say, so she just agreed and let Abraham go his merry way. Something deep inside told her that now was a good time to tell her superiors that she was out. But unlike her co-worker, she would be out for real. She wanted to leave this city, to go back to her native Long Island, and be a judge’s widow, as she were before Abe and Ben and Caleb recruited her to what they called “the re-formation of America’s best spy ring” She sighed, and took her phone to call Caleb, and tell him about their latest achievement… If they could call it that way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you a lot for reading, and generally for keeping up with my shenanigans. I know I said it a thousand times, but you guys are the best.  
> Chapter title was borrowed from the dark country band "Angry Johnny and the Killbillies". 
> 
> Up next: Robert Rogers makes an apperance, and tells a disturbing story to Hewlett about his predecessor, and hints at a curious pattern of international corporate espionage.
> 
> Also! Get prepared for some artwork attached with the next chapter! I'm behind with my promised drawings, and also wanted to make more illustrations for Haywired, which I intend to show you guys. (Sorry for the eyebleeds in advance.)


	13. Voices from the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edmund makes a revelation about the odd circumstances surrounding his predecessor’s demise, which is confirmed by an Interpol agent, who is sent over to investigate the matter. Simcoe is playing office pest, then goes missing!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, my dearest readers!
> 
> It took me quite a while, but here's another chapter! I missed this story so much, and II know I should return to it sooner. Sorry about that. This chapter will contain: Cursewords, mentions of anger issues and murder, office pranks, calligraphy, and wonky international legal stuff I'm not really qualified to write about.

After my miserable failure with my pet-project, I was sitting in my office, and well… I did nothing else, but sat in my office and felt sorry for myself. Whoever attacked our firm, made a horrible mistake. I was determined to show them that. After all, I already set Simcoe on their trail. Then again… I didn’t really put him out of the question either. Something was off with him, and I wanted to know what. My frustration and shame took hold on me again, but I didn’t really have more time to mourn my dear Bucephalus, as it turned out after a call from reception that I am wanted at the lobby. I wasn’t expecting anyone, so I wanted security to send the person away. “It wouldn’t be a wise thing to do.” I heard an unknown voice at the other end of the line, talking with a heavy Scottish accent, I would recognise immediately anywhere. “It is a confidential case, Mr. Hewlett, and if you fail to meet me, you will be charged with hindering an international investigation.” That rang the emergency bell. “I shall see you in my office then, Mr…” “Detective Rogers. At your service.” the voice answered. It’s weathered and fairly round owner came through my office door not long after I hung up. “I was directed to you by your friend, John André.” he started. “It seems that your corporation suffered an attack by the same spy organization I’m after.” He showed me an ID and it made me feel the need to sit back on my chair. Frankly, I never would have thought the case was that big. “I shall tell you everything I know.” Rogers nodded. “I would like to question your men.” he added. “They are out there.” I gestured towards the bigger part of our office level. “But not all of them.” The Interpol agent’s expression suggested that I should elaborate. “My quasi-second, Mr. Simcoe is nowhere to be found. Perhaps he went out for some business or for lunch break.” Rogers was still looking at me with the same expression. I felt like a teen in front of a particularly strict teacher. “Well, then I’ll surely ask him some questions. He might be linked to another case I was working on.” I felt like falling from the frying pan into the fire. “What else can I help you with, Detective?” I asked, hoping that the tension will lift from the air of my office. “I’m investigating the case of your predecessor, Mr. Joyce’s murder, that is probably linked to an international corporate espionage case.” Murder, he said? “Excuse me, what?” I asked in astonishment. “I knew about Mr. Joyce’s tragic death, but it never occurred to me that it wasn’t natural.” Rogers sat down on the chair reserved for visitors in front of my desk. “We have plenty of time, Mr. Hewlett. Tell me all you know!”

 

After our little discussion, Rogers went to question the IT staff. Simcoe was still nowhere near, which equally calmed me and made me think that he might be doing it on purpose. Rogers said he was wanted back in the UK for something. That he had a criminal record. It made me think back to what Anna said to me a few days ago, when I was in her pub. The thing with one of her friends knowing that Simcoe has some shady things in his past. I wondered why it bothers me so much? I wanted to see John and ask him myself. But sadly it had to wait until Agent Rogers finished asking around. He also showed me some data that wasn’t confidential regarding Joyce. He was poisoned. Not by some easily concocted, you-can-buy-at-every-apothecary type of thing, but something three letter organizations used in the 1950’s to get rid of each other’s agents. It sounded like some wacky conspiracy theory, but sadly I saw the evidence of it being real. After Rogers was gone, I went back to work, and forgot about the case completely. Someone knocked on my office door, and I was surprised to see John standing there. “May I come in?” he trilled. I nodded, but had a bad feeling about him being too… I don’t know, nice? It was unusual. Simcoe closed the door, leaned to the doorframe, and pulled a small post-it note out from his pocket. “You recognise this?” he wagged it in my face. Of course I knew where he took it from. I wasn’t going to admit it to him, of course. “No, and as you see John, I have work to do.” I answered as coldly as I could. He looked at the paper and stuck it on my monitor. “I never thought you would want justice for me so badly to do it yourself.” he commented. “I still have no idea of what you’re talking about.” I kept on playing. John made one of his trademark eye rolls. “Ed, I recognised your handwriting instantly as I saw it. No need for theatricals.” I stopped my work and looked at him. “All right, I confess. He had no right to throw your poem to the rubbish.” “Even if it belongs there?” he asked on an unusual soft tone, but went on with his good old one the next moment. “And what about the books? Those were you as well, aren’t you?” I held my arms up in surrender. “All right, I did it. Now if you’d be so kind to tell me why is it so important to you?” He just smiled, and turned away, never giving an answer. I didn’t see his face again that day, so I can admit it was worth it. I stopped pranking the Senior Clerk at André’s mailroom though. 

All the way home that day, I was thinking about what that detective was saying. John might be linked to another case, and Anna’s friend knowing a dark secret about him. I felt I have to clear my head, so I took a turn to Anna’s pub. I wanted to talk with her. To see things clearly. For a long time, I didn’t even order anything, just sat in one of the booths, and stared out the window. Thoughts were running through my head but always coming back to the memory of my talk with Rogers. Joyce was murdered by a criminal organization specialised in corporate espionage. Someone broke into our firm’s mainframe and sabotaged my project along with security cameras and other protective measures. And I had no means to know what other personnel in my work-team knew. Maybe one of them is involved. Maybe the man I sent to see to the matter is involved. After all, his behaviour was more than suspicious. I took my cellphone to call John and ask him about it, when I noticed Anna standing beside me. “Is there something wrong?” she asked. I sighed, and put the phone back into my pocket. “It’s just the stress of work, nothing serious.” I answered. I ordered a glass of wine from Anna, and asked her to join me if traffic permitted her to do so. She sat in front of me, giving me my glass of fine red, to help me ease the pounding headache that starting to plague me.

 

I had little sleep that night. All I could think about was Joyce, and the case of the international corporate spy ring Rogers told me about. My intention to chat with Anna in hopes of clarifying things also went awry, with me excusing myself after a short while, and returning to the solitude of my home. I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and thinking, thinking without any hope for a solution. After hours have passed in idle, tense brainstorming, I sat up and took my phone from the nightstand. I called Simcoe on a whim. The phone rang, and I was about to hang up when I heard his voice on the other end of the line. “Edmund, do you have any idea what time is it?” he asked. I could hear in his voice that he was completely sober. “Where are you?” I managed to ask. “At work.” he answered. “I’m about to hit the road home, actually. Why?” I wanted to tell him about my worries, but he would only laugh at me, I reckoned. “I just wanted to know.” I told him. “Splendid. Now you know. Goodnight, Edmund!” he hung up. I tried to sleep, but ended up seeing him in a nightmare.

 

The next day I went to work feeling like something or someone drained me of my life force. I drank about the third cup of strong black coffee that morning, when I discovered something: Simcoe was nowhere to be found. He didn’t make it to work in time, it seemed. I wasn’t really mad at him, considering it was three in the morning today when he went home. Even he deserves a little sleep. Then another couple of hours passed, and John was still absent. I called him, but I only got his voicemail after a long row of rings. It was very unusual. He never was late, or missed work. I went out to ask his co-workers about what he did last night. It turned out he had another clash with the mailroom personnel, over some minor thing, like the last can of that horrible smelling chemical substance he consumed if he wanted to stay awake for the whole night. He also managed to piss off a few of our superiors as well, and reconciling with them fell on my shoulders. After talking with the CEO, and some other prominent figures of the corporation, I was glad that John skipped work today, for I could strangle him, no matter my strong feeling of him getting a kick out of it.  The rest of the day passed without me even noticing. I took a long walk home, to let the air clear my head a bit. I was mad at John now, for ignoring my calls, and for pestering everyone just to put me in an embarrassing situation. I stopped next to an alley, and called him… To nearly jump out of my skin, when his ringtone played in my close vicinity. That alone would be enough to unsettle someone, and I started to look for the source of the horrible electronic music. I followed “Enjoy the Silence” – to put this track as his ringtone again convinced me that he’s irredeemably insane – and found his phone under the trash can. Its screen was broken, and had suspicious stains on it. As I held it in my hand, stopping the music with hanging up, I suddenly realised what happened. John didn’t skip work. He didn’t sleep over. Someone kidnapped him, or worse.

I watched the patrol cars and CSI scanning the area. I answered the questions of the policemen as best as I could. I didn’t mention my “involvement” with John, only saying that I was concerned as his direct superior. Yet I was terrified. I should have known that it’s a bad idea to send him to investigate. He might know too much, and now whoever got rid of Joyce, might got John too. He might be dead, thrown in a ditch, or buried in a shallow grave somewhere. I had to admit to myself, that as much as I was worried sick for him, a sort of relief was carried with the news of his disappearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- "Enjoy the Silence" is a song by Depeche Mode. (It was my ringtone too, once. Hmm. I might be irredeemably insane as well. :'D )
> 
> Thank you a lot for reading!  
> Also, forgive the mini-chapter length, this one is but a prelude to the much longer next chapter. :D  
> Sooo...  
> Up next: Where did John go? What happened to him? After Rogers' investigation, Edmund is in a mood for interrogating, so he'll ask a lot of questions regarding Simcoe's life before they met. (So it will contain a detailed backstory of Haywire!Simcoe, which probably will have little to do with either the original or TURN!Simcoe's past. Sorry, but not sorry. =P )
> 
> As always, feedback is optional, but very muchly appreciated! ;) Stay awesome, folks! <3


	14. Ginger Snapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simcoe is in for a rough ride, and a chat with Hewlett about his past life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!  
> I have only some warnings for you before diving into the next chapter. :)  
> It includes cursing, canon and history divergence, and also... enemies teaming up because reasons.

I knew it was good old Ed. As soon as I saw his kitschy calligraphy on that snot-green post-it, I knew. I wanted to laugh, but I just picked it off from Mailroom Jerk’s monitor. “That should be on a T-shirt.” I commented, and got some half-assed try of wits from Woodhull, but… When it came to that ratfaced little midget, I always had to remind myself that while I’m preparing for a battle of wits, he’s usually unarmed. I took the note back to Hewlett, who – of course – denied everything. “I recognized your handwriting as soon as I saw it. No need for theatricals.” He grudgingly confessed to be my “hero”, and the one pranking the mailroom personnel. I knew it. Eddie had a dark side, and I found myself feeling… I don’t know, proud of him? My day got soured though when I heard that he had a visitor. A person I knew too well, and was keen on avoiding for… Well, preferably for the rest of my life. So I asked my faithful co-worker Falkoff, and went with him to the nearest Starbucks. I usually wasn’t the one slacking off, and if I admired only one thing about my team that they weren’t either, so it was natural that the nosy bastard asked me what was wrong as soon as our bottom halves touched the seats. “Nothing, I just wanted to drink my coffee without the presence of Oyster Prince.” I answered. “I don’t believe you.” he shook his head. “And I don’t give a flying fecknut.” I smiled. I hated small talk, but my dear colleague just kept on rambling about random things, therefore forcing me to sometimes insert a “Hmm.” or a “That’s very unfortunate.” maybe a sign of approval here or there. What frightened me is that the longer I was talking to him, the less it seemed like a nuisance. Also, it bought me time, which I needed badly. So I threw various themes that interested me up, like history, or some old literature, and sadly had to realise he didn’t share my knowledge or interest in any field. So we stayed with hockey. At least I had a vague idea of what he was talking about this time.

We expired a longer time period than it was permitted for a lunch break, and I told him to go back without me, because I “have some odds-and-ends to take care of”. I wandered around the various shops, looking for that familiar face in the crowd, to know when to make a run for it. My old senses returned, and suddenly I was a runaway teenage boy again, desperate to hide from the police and anyone who would drag him back to the place he barely managed to escape. One hour turned to two. Two to three. I could no longer delay my return to the office, or else I’ll be in deeper doodoo than I can climb out of. I still don’t know what kind of exceptional luck I had, but when I went back to the office, everything was “normal”. Like no one was there, questioning the crew. I sat back to my computer, and continued my work. I didn’t even see Hewlett leaving. I wanted to keep working, to compensate for my three hours’ absence, and ended up being alone. Night already fallen, and I was tired and irritable. And of course, I ran into Mailroom Jerk at the cantina. I don’t want to go into details, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying something to me that I had to respond to with my usual wits. Letting it go would be a huge waste of opportunity. Sadly, André and some other bigheads were also present, so the small dispute turned into a full-scale witch hunt against yours truly. I couldn’t be more glad to return to the silence of the office, and continue my work until 3 in the morning. No one was around, it was nice and quiet. I turned the lights off and went out to my bike. And that’s when the “L” in my luck was replaced with an “F”. The motorcycle malfunctioned, and the engine didn’t start. I took a look, and as much as I could see in the dim light of the parking lot, someone cut some wires that will cost me a small fortune to get fixed. “I hope Karma will get you shitface before I do.” I muttered, and started to walk home. I barely left the office building, when my phone rang. It was Hewlett. “Edmund, do you have any idea what time is it?” I asked, suspecting something about him calling me in this ungodly hour. “Where… um, where are you?” he stuttered. “At work… I’m about to hit the road home, actually.” I answered. “Why?” the line was silent for a moment before he replied to my question. “I just wanted to know.” I didn’t have the slightest idea what to do with this. “Splendid.” I heard myself say. “Now you know. Goodnight, Edmund!” and with that I hung up. I was staring at the screen of my phone for a moment, and failed to notice the large frame of someone, who hit me on the head. Everything went black for a while.

I regained my consciousness to something hitting my face. I tasted blood in my mouth, and heard a voice lowly uttering several curses. “What the bloody hell?” I groaned, then the cursing and frantic thrashing stopped. “Simcoe?” I heard my family name in the same manner as the swearing. Also that made me recognise the man who was locked in the trunk with me. “In the flesh, Brewster! Long time no spooning.” Caleb made a distressed sound, and muttered “Oh fuck me…” “I’d rather not. We’re locked in the trunk of a speeding car, and you just hit my face, so I’m really not in the mood.” I replied. “Anyway, do you have any idea who hit both of us over the head and put in a trunk?” I felt Caleb shaking his head. “I’m in the dark, just as much as you.” he replied. “Quite literally.” I added. “Whoever the bastard is, he’s in for a surprise.” Caleb stated. I felt something pushing against my stomach. “Please tell me that’s a gun…” I said, earning a snort. “Of course, what else… Ew, you perverted fuck…” I laughed mirthlessly. “Please Caleb, stop with the cute nicknames! How about you help me push the lid of the trunk…” I started to beat the lid with my hand that wasn’t trapped under my body. Actually I tried to ignore that I no longer felt the other one. It must have been hours since we were locked in the car. Brewster also pushed and pounded on it, and we both yelled our throats bloody, but nothing happened. “So much for getting out.” I said. “I don’t understand… All cars should be built in a way for the trunk to be possible to open from the inside. There are laws stating it!” It was Caleb’s turn to laugh. “Laws?!” He elbowed me in the stomach. “Hey! How was I supposed to know that our kidnapper has an old crap for a car that predates that law?” I could see his eyes gleaming with a too familiar rage. “Just give me one good reason why I shouldn’t strangle you!” Caleb grumbled. “Well, because if you do, you’ll be forced to cuddle with my corpse.” I replied. “And that’d be just…you know, gross.” “You know what’s gross?” he asked me after a long pause. “I feel you have something in your pocket as well.” I just chuckled and left him without reply. He was right though, I had my bayonet, which I carried around in a sheath under my jacket. It was very inattentive of our captor to leave our weapons with us… Or maybe they knew about our mutual past and hoped we’ll end each other in the meantime.

After another measure of undisclosed time interval, the car stopped. My heart began to race, and I could feel Caleb holding his breath in. Both of us were drowsy and near to falling asleep because of the stale and thin air of the car trunk. A few more hours, and we’d probably suffocate or get heat-stroke and die. The lid opened, and we were dragged out. I fell to the ground because my limbs were “asleep”, and Caleb fell next to me. He looked awful. I had a suspicion that I wasn’t my usual handsome self either. We were dragged in a big, run-down warehouse, somewhere in the outskirts of the city. I couldn’t really memorise my surroundings, because I fainted again, but after coming to my senses, I felt a concrete pillar next to my back, and some ropes around my wrists…And another pair of hands in my hands. “Afraid of the dark, Caleb?” I asked, my voice hoarse from dehydration. “Wha…?” I heard then he was thrashing again. “Mate, chill!” I told him. “I wasn’t the one tying you up next to me.” He grumbled something, and suddenly became very still. Someone was there with us. “Indeed it wasn’t you, Johnny.” I recognised the owner of the voice, and it made me sneer. “Major Rogers! How’s your eye?” The old, fat police officer trotted into the small pool of light coming in from the boarded up windows. He still had his left eye to my dismay, but also a jagged scar all over his face. The mark of my favourite weapon. “It fares better than your ear, lad.” Oh, that’s right. You don’t know. He cut my ear off, but it was sewn back, so I still had it. “I’m happy for you lovebirds’ reunion, but what do I have to do with all of these?” Brewster inserted. Rogers went over to him. “You? Sorry son, you’re here because I know you weren’t exactly an angel either. And I know you’re friends with that federal hound dog Tallmadge.” That was interesting. Petty street thug Brewster having federal agent chaps? It explained a few things to me.

“Tallmadge?” Caleb asked and I felt him shrug. “Never heard of the guy.” Liar. I was sure he was only playing and trying to figure out a way to escape. I knew I would do that. I saw his gun and my bayonet on a table just far away enough for me not to be able to reach it. If I could stretch my leg, I might be able to kick the whole thing over, but it was too risky. Rogers might get wind of what I was doing, and my weapon might end up at an even bigger distance. “I know that one of you is working for a corporate spy ring.” Rogers stated. I laughed, and Caleb snorted. “I’m a delivery boy at Pizza Hut.” he chuckled. “Shittiest job ever.” I snickered. “Loser.” “Shut up, Mr. Suit-and-tie!” he snapped at me. “At least I have a decent job.” I answered with a grin. “And though I feel flattered that you suspect me of such a dirty crime Major, I have to disappoint you. I have knowledge of that spy ring though.” “He’s lying!” Brewster chuckled. “Am I?” His chuckle had a strange tense tone that raised my attention. “Someone has been snooping around of the firm I’m working at. Changing security camera footage and all.” “That means nothing… Besides, you could have been the one doing it.” Caleb took the role of the interrogator. “Really? I was the one spotting it. Because your man was sloppy.” I riposted. “He’s just trying to save his lousy hide.” Brewster commented. “Or I’m getting too close to the truth…” “A tinfoil-hat, claiming that the world is ran by lizardfolk is as close to the truth as you are.” he tried to mock me. He even laughed. Again, on that strange, tense tone when you’re desperately trying to cover something. “What did you say?” I asked. “You’re crazy, Simcoe.” “No, no…Before that… Your laughter spoke volumes.” “Take your meds!”

Rogers was watching the verbal tennis-match, but now he needed to interfere. “Don’t mind me lads. This is getting very interesting.” “Major Rogers, you kidnapped us, and with that overstepped your jurisdiction.” Caleb decided to ignore me, and also the encouragement to keep arguing with me. A bummer. I knew he was hiding something. “The local police forces will be happy to have a chat with you about your methods.” I leaned back to the pillar, and tried to calculate the right angle to kick the table over, so I can get my bayonet, and hell… Maybe Brewster’s gun too. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that, sonny.” Rogers answered Caleb. “As a matter of fact, they are already looking for you. We all know both of you have records with them.” I couldn’t hold myself back from asking “Then what are we doing here?” He looked at me, and shrugged. “You see, so far you two proved my suspicion. That the best way to know which one of you is the spy, is to pit you mad dogs against each other. All I have to do is listen, and learn.” I cursed myself a bit. I should have seen this trick. But he was right. I was so wrapped up in trying to tell Caleb off that I gave away information. And he as well. I had to admit that the old fart was a genius. “As I said, don’t mind me. I’ll be back in a few hours with the local authorities. Have fun until then!” He went away, but I had a feeling that he bugged the place. After all he needed us to confess.

“Have you ever heard the term “Karmasutra”?” I asked. “I think you spelled that wrong.” Brewster answered. “No, it is used when life screws you in all sorts of creative ways.” I replied. I was already stretching towards the table, as a last resort. I had to try it. “I’m really not in the mood for your shitty humor, Simcoe.” I heard Caleb, while trying to slide a bit down, to be able to reach that damn thing… “What are you doing?” he asked me after I was audibly having difficulties stretching my leg any longer. “I’m…trying…to free us…” I groaned, then finally I kicked the table over. Sadly, the ballet lesson wasn’t over for me yet, because I had to grab my blade somehow, so I tried to use my leg to swipe it closer to me. “Screw it!” I hissed hearing a loud pop my thigh bone made. Oh well. I was no longer the flexible teen I was back then it seems… “God, I hate this!” My little self-torment had its benefits in the end, for I could feel the cold steel and the serrated edge of my partner in crime. I couldn’t turn my head to fully see what I was doing, so I ended up cutting Brewster a few times before finally freeing our hands. Both of us stood up, and for a moment we were staring at each other… The we ducked to grab the gun at the same time. After a little struggling, we ended up holding each other at gun and blade point, respectively. “Try anything, and I pull the trigger!” Brewster hissed. I grinned “I’ll gut you like a fish before you can even do as much as flinch.” As much as I wanted to keep my promise, I knew I’m not going to make it if I actually stab Caleb with my bayonet I was currently holding against him, while at the same time staring down the barrel of his gun. “Truce?” I asked as a final attempt to avoid making things worse. I know, I know. Very uncharacteristic of me, but believe me, there is a method to my madness. Also, I might be a violent and slightly deranged past-criminal, but I’m no fool. I needed Brewster alive… for now. “Until we get out of here.” he nodded and lowered the .45 from my face. I also withdrew my trusty companion from his torso. “This way!” I pointed to the far end of the warehouse, where the emergency exit was supposed to be. “Let’s run away before Rogers comes back!” Caleb followed my lead, but both of us were in to an unpleasant surprise. The emergency exit was sealed shut. We lacked the equipment to open it, so we were trapped here. Brewster cursed, and I myself was close to lose my manners. “Shut up, and help me find a way around those containers!” I ordered him, and he grumpily followed. I had to admit it felt good. I climbed up the pile of block-shaped metal boxes, and spotted a glimpse of hope. “Found anything?” Caleb asked from below. “I did.” I answered. “But I have some bad news. We have to climb higher, and might not have enough time.” “Shite.” Caleb cursed. “Then we have to brawl with the old bear.” I chuckled. “As much as it would please me to tear him another one, I’m afraid we can’t do that.” “Why?” I jumped down and landed next to him. “He’s an Interpol agent. Back in our good old days, I could… I should have kill the bastard and bury him deep in an abandoned place, but he was an ordinary beat cop back then. Now his disappearance would only attract more of his ilk.” I couldn’t help but smile at the memory of our last meeting. “Saw that ugly scar he has on his face? That’s my handiwork.” Brewster frowned. “Why am I not surprised at the fact that you’re proud of it?” he asked, while trying to glance out the window. “And why wouldn’t I?” I asked back. “I defeated an enemy.” He let it go without any further comment, but turned towards me with an enlightened expression. “We can get to the roof and climb down, can’t we?” I slowly nodded. “Yes… What do you have in mind?” A storm was brewing and we were running in the woods far away from any place I’ve recognised. I was mistaken when I thought we’re still in Toronto. “Where are we?” I asked. Brewster looked around and shrugged. “Somewhere around Newmarket, I guess.” I groaned. “Better find the road back soon.” “They will look for us there.” He was right. “Fine then. You go your way, and I go mine. They have less chance to catch both of us if we separate.” I said. He nodded. Rain started falling, and it was pretty dark out there, only the distant lights of the nearby city broke the blackness in small spots. I felt his eyes on me. “What?” I snapped, because he made feel uncomfortable. Caleb chuckled, and shook his head. “Nothing. I’m just looking at a dead man.” he turned away from me, and said “Not sorry about your dog!” then left. My face turned into a dark expression which he couldn’t see. “Not sorry about your uncle!” I yelled after him. I knew if we meet again anytime soon, it will not end this peacefully.

It took me two days to get home. I fell off a hill, sprained my shoulder, my right leg seemed to be dislocated from my pelvic bone, thanks to my ballet moves to get my weapon, and I was soak wet and dirty… And stank. I knew as soon as I get home, I’ll take a shower even if a horde of federal and Interpol agents will pound at my door right after I closed it. I avoided people as much as I could, and took less frequented roads. I wanted to call Ed, but fought the urge. He might tell the police. It was obvious that I will need to move and quit my job. I hit a wall in an alley. Damn it. Four years of my life was going down the drain because of Rogers and whoever that corporate spy was. I had suspects. I wanted them to suffer. Finally, in the evening of the second day I was standing in the lift, on my way to my flat. My keys in my good hand, I limped through the corridor, and stopped when I saw a figure standing in front of my door. I had nowhere to hide, and was preparing to fight, but then I saw him from a closer distance. It was Edmund. He probably heard my footsteps, because he turned towards me, and asked. “Where the hell have you been?!” I was only able to mumble something, and he was furious. This time I wasn’t happy about it. “I had to walk home.” I said. “He took me somewhere far away, out of town.” It was like he only realised now the shape that I was in. “What… Did they hurt you?” he asked, and touched my hurting shoulder, which made me wince. “I just dislocated it while escaping.” I tried to shrug. “And for the love of science, will you let me open that damn door?” Ed stepped aside, and I muddled with the keys for a few seconds until we could get inside. Hewlett closed the door but not locked it. I didn’t care, I was busy taking my torn and dirty clothes off, and stepped under the shower. I saw the bruises I had and had no idea how I got most of them. When I was ready, I put some clean clothes on, and sat beside Edmund on my sofa. He was playing with Mercy, but I saw that he was tense. “All right.” I sighed. “Ask!” And he did. “John, I heard very unsettling things about you in the past few days. I was questioned by the police, and now I’m really on the verge of losing my mental integrity. Just tell me what did you do? Why is this Detective Rogers after you? Everyone treats you like some kind of a serial killer. Can you explain all of this, or I have to turn you in?” I felt a pang in my black hole where others had a heart. “Fine.” I told him casually. “I will tell you everything, from the very beginning. After I’m done, you can do whatever you want, but please, don’t tell anyone that I’m here!” Hewlett squinted at me. “I cannot promise you that.” he told me. “Edmund, I’m serious!” I was. My voice was devoid of my usual salty tone, and for my disgust, it sounded desperate. “I need you to promise me that you don’t tell anyone about seeing me, or talking with me.” He stared at my face for a while before sighing. “Very well. Tell me your tale, John!”

I took a deep breath, and started to speak. “You know what they say about redheads? That they have no soul, have a bad temper, uncontrollable, are either witches or the devil incarnate, or -especially in men's case - weak, clownish, hefty. Well, one word: Wrong. Funny enough, that one little word could easily describe my early life as well as it does with the stereotypes. Wasn't there a song about this? You know the "I was born with the wrong sign, in the wrong house, with the wrong ascendancy..." Add "With the wrong hair colour", and you'll get a glimpse of what I had to go through as a child. Being bullied for "stealing souls", "probably turning into a vampire after death", and being "conceived by Satan" was just an average Tuesday. And when I asked about why everyone is acting like a giant twatface with me and my brother, all the answer I got was "ignore them", or "bear with it". At least, from my mum. My dad was a soldier, he said I should just defend myself and deal with it. I'm pretty sure he didn't mean the same thing by "defending myself", than what I did. One sunny school day, the usual bunch of dolts came and tormented me, which I tolerated for an extent, until suddenly something just snapped, and next thing I knew, I was sent to detention for breaking someone's nose and giving the other one a black eye. My parents weren't proud. My brother was, however. And I guess, that was the proverbial first step down the line. Or to stay with the song analogy - if you forgive my indulgence of my love to poetry - "to the wrong road that led to the wrong tendencies."

I stopped, gathering my strength to move on. I never told anyone this before, and it felt like opening an old wound. “Another year has passed, and we - the whole family - were moving into a bigger house. We never made it though. I can still see the last memory I have of them. Me and my brother, sitting on the back seat of our dad's car, our mum sitting on the shotgun seat, turning back to try and make us stop with whatever shenanigans we were doing. I don't remember clearly after all those years and prescription drugs. I remember though, the darkness, the cold and the bright sparks as the paramedics and firemen cut through the wreck to save the broken, shrieking little kid. I remember the nurses, the pain, the despair. I spent a whole week in hospital, waiting for some social worker to take me into the nearest orphanage. Instead, my godfather came, and told me that I will live with them from now on. Now, before you might get the wrong idea, this didn't sign the end of all misery and a "lived happily ever after" for me. God knows, I have issues. And I had them back then too. I developed insomnia, for fear of falling asleep, because I might never wake up again, and for fear of the recurring nightmares, that still plague me to this day. Also a strong aversion towards cars. Aunt Margaret - my godfather's wife - was quite upset with me. A lot. She had a foster daughter, her niece, and she was accustomed to a much pleasant and - may I say this without insulting my dear Lizzy - docile child. I was anything but. Until his retirement from the Royal Navy, my uncle Sam would spend most of his days at work, away from his wife and two adopted children, so the majority of dealing with a traumatized ten-year-old yours truly fell on poor auntie Maggie's shoulders. Many times I heard her woes. "That child is insane." and "Johnny's so quiet, all he does is just staring." Well, sorry everyone, but Johnny was too shell-shocked by the recurring memory of seeing the mangled remains of his mum and dad, and being covered by their blood from head to toe, not to mention that the upper half of his little brother was still in his lap when the firemen finally managed to cut a big enough hole into the wreck that remained of the family's car to be able to drag him out, nearly cutting his left ear off with the edges of the hole in the process. My bad. No wonder things got worse as I reached my teens. Being a big guy with a little girl's voice was another feature that made me a target for bullies. This time I didn't need advice on how to handle them. I found some strange affection with fighting, and the only sensation that made me feel alive...Stop looking at me like that. You asked me to tell the whole thing.”

Ed’s expression was unidentifiable. “All right, go on.” he told me. I was hesitating, for I knew nothing good ever came from people getting to know my past, but I figured it was a good way to test if Edmund tells the truth about wanting to be with me. “When I turned eighteen I ran away. That’s why I was wanted back in the UK.” Ed still stared at me like he didn’t believe a word I said. “I can get you my file. It’s a missing person case.” I added, mentally getting ready to crack a firewall and steal ages old data to prove I’m not lying. “I took a job on a ship that went to the US, and after months of drifting from city to city, living on the streets, I found a gang. They took me in.” I continued my tale, not even looking at Hewlett. “We operated around New York and Long Island.” I felt Ed’s hand on my shoulder, so I looked at him. “So it is true.” he stated. I nodded. “I was a small-time criminal. Mostly did the dirty job nobody else wanted to. I earned my place among them. And my share of drugs that kept me insane and let me sleep at night.” My smile turned sour. “I was a shit-for-brains addict that did anything to get his fix.” Ed’s grip tightened around my arm. “The gang was ran by a couple, who took some… special interest in me.” My throat went dry and my memories came out from the darkest depth of my mind, where I usually kept them. “I don’t want to talk about it, Ed.” “What happened?” he asked full of concern, but I just shook my head. “Let’s just leave it at that my first ever coitus with another man was neither consensual nor safe or sane.” I had a reason why I didn’t like to be on the receiving end, and it was no small amount thanks to that event in my teenage years. “What did you do then?” Edmund asked, his hand still firmly holding mine. “I was an addict, and I was only eighteen. I obeyed them, so they let me be. After two long years I barely remember thanks to the drugs, I came to my breaking point, and left. The pigs were on our trail along with an enemy gang we couldn’t defeat. I contributed to the body count, but took my leave and came here. I met Joyce, and the rest is history.” I raised my head and looked into Ed’s eyes. “There. You know it.”

He made that jaw-clenching he always did when he was thinking. “John, we can work it out. What happened back then, is past. You were young, and naïve. It doesn’t have to affect your life.” He told me after a while. “Stop talking like my therapist, Edmund.” I replied flatly. “Eighteen is not a child. I was fully aware of what I was doing.” I turned away again, and added. “I don’t need justification. Or reassurance. I’m damaged goods, and you probably see already why I keep to myself.” I didn’t look at him because I couldn’t bear to see his expression. “Actually, I like being alone. At least I convince myself that I’m better off that way.” His hand left mine. As I expected. “And now you’ll turn around and leave, like everyone else.” I added. “They all left, because they knew what’s good for them.” Edmund indeed left me. He just stood next to me, as long as I was speaking, then went out of my room, out of my flat, and slammed the door behind him. I didn’t know what was I thinking? Where would our relationship lead? Was it even a relationship? After all, we just slept together a few times. Not that I’d worth anything else. As I told Ed, I’m damaged. Maybe far too damaged for anyone to love. And I don’t blame them. The only one who was always by my side, was Mercy. She curled up to a ball on my sheets, and cast a dirty look at me, as I collapsed next to her, desperately trying to contain the tears that kept on falling. She might sense that something was wrong with me, because she came closer, and tried to smother me by laying on my face and purring as loudly as she could. The poor thing wasn’t prepared for me grabbing her soft fur and sob into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually I had notes. Lots of 'em, but AO3 ate them, and I don't want to rewrite the whole thing. :S
> 
> I hope the backstory I gave to John wasn't too off-putting, I have my reasons for doing it, and will gladly tell you all about them if you're interested. :)
> 
> Again, thank you everyone for reading and for the support, you guys rock!
> 
> Up next: Edmund's dilemma. What if he is not in love with John? What if he is? Can they even have a chance together? Should they try? We'll see.


	15. Black Holes and Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed is unsure of his own feelings for John, but he still concocts a plan to save him from prison. André gets fired for canoodling with the wife of the head of the accounting department, and the investigation for the corporate spy yields an unexpected result. Edmund makes a mistake, and it might cost him more than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again my dearest readers and for the occasional passerby!
> 
> I had troubles writing this chapter, not because lack of motivation, rather that I really didn't want to disappoint anyone. I know, I know, I said this a lot before, but in this chapter, some events might take a turn (pun not intended) for a way most of you out there wouldn't like. I can assure all of you, that it will be only temporary, and the fic will have some more fluffy/happy chapters later. I just have to include all the angst, for it's there in the tags. Speaking of tags, I came to realise lately that I ought to take my warning tags more seriously, so from now on, I will really try to list all of possible problematic content, but please keep in mind that I have literally no way of knowing every single phobia/mental trigger of every single person that reads my works, so there IS a huge possibilty that you will come across some "nightmare fuel" in some chapters. Again, proceed at your own risk!  
> And now if we're at it, this chapter's warnings are the following: The usual coarse language, wonky legal procedures, questionable morals, pining.  
> And to give credit where credit is due: A huge thank you goes for my friend and co-writer for saving the day with her brilliant ideas! If it weren't for her, this fic would not earn half of its popularity. (Which none of us would even dream of when we started it, so again, thank you everyone! You rock! )

I would lie if I’d say I wasn’t relieved to see him alive. The last two days went by with me barely noticing it, because I was either busy with answering questions for the detectives, or hopelessly standing in front of John’s door, wishing he might show up or opens up and asks what am I doing here on that stupid voice of his, leaning to the doorframe. I was standing there, and saw his tall frame exiting the lift, stumbling towards me, and all the rage I suppressed for the last 48 or so hours spoiled what little happiness I felt. I wanted to know what happened, why did he disappear, and what was all that with his criminal record. I was prepared to hear a metric shit-ton of lies, or at least some sarcastic remarks, but not to the harrowing tale he told me. I felt my heart ache for the runaway teenage boy, the criminal drug addict, and the broken young man he became. Yet my reasonable half felt that more wrongs won’t make any past wrong right, no matter how justified we think our actions are. I stood up as soon as Simcoe finished telling his sad life story, and left without a second thought. Actually, I left because I had a lot of thoughts running around in my head, and I needed time to process them. I texted John the next morning not to come to work. Not that it was necessary.The investigation was still going on, and it became harder and harder for me not to tell that John is actually safe at home. I felt like an accomplice in a crime, and as a matter of fact I was one. 

I checked my phone to see if he responded to my text, when I noticed a commotion outside of my office. The IT team was circling around someone I immediately recognised. With an irritated groan, I went out and shooed some of my subordinates away, to be able to talk to my favourite reckless idiot. “John, what are you doing here?” I asked on a hushed voice and shepherded him into my office. “Testifying, of course.” he answered like it was the most natural thing on Earth. “Against who?” I asked, but had a suspicion for the answer. “Rogers. He kidnapped me, and tortured me for information.” he riposted. It sounded like he was rehearsing it. “You saw my wounds, didn’t you?” I felt my head spin. “You asked me yesterday not to tell anyone I saw you, yet you’re here…” he interrupted my rant. “Change of plans. Both of us can end up being in trouble, if we keep up the charade.” He glanced over his shoulder, and turned back to me. “I know what they want to hear. Also, this is our chance to get that corporate spy.” It baffled me how could he be so calm. I started to think that this man is not the same I was talking with the night before. I missed the melancholic poet, which was replaced with this scheming psychopath.

“You will do no such thing.” I heard myself say. Simcoe raised his brow. I felt I need to elaborate. “Rogers is well aware that he can lose his badge for kidnapping you. Also, with your record, it wouldn’t be wise to run and point fingers at him. It would be your words against his, and you would accomplish nothing.” I saw his face taking that curious expression that reminded me of a humanoid cat. “What do you suggest then?” he trilled with his usual absent-mindedly terrifying half-smile on his lips. I swallowed the knot that somehow tied itself in my throat. “I…uh. I need to know what did you tell your co-workers about the cause of your absence.” John shrugged. “Nothing yet.” I nodded. “Good. Keep it that way, or if they insist, lie to them. You got injured in an accident.” His smile turned into a grin as he slowly shook his head. “Eddie, you surprise me.” I cast a dirty look at him, but I still had some things I needed to tell. “Just wait until I finish my plan.” I added. “Here’s what we’re going to do…”

After I told him what to say to whom, and how to act, he left my office. I told everyone I sent him home because he was still unwell from the accident he suffered. The malfunction of his bike was convenient, if I can say such. My workday was like hell. I couldn’t concentrate on the job, my mind was racing and concocting various plans to save face and get the corporate spy operating in the company. A minute after my shift was over, I left office, ran to my car, and fished out the business card I got from Rogers, when he was interrogating the IT crew. I reluctantly called the number on it, and asked if I could talk with him, because I had some information he might be interested in. I was directed to a building belonging to the local police, and a small office which was mostly occupied by the detective himself. “You called, Mr. Hewlett.” he said instead of greeting. “I did.” he gestured for me to sit down, and I obeyed. It felt like I was on my last exam again. To chase my nervousness, I cleared my throat and began to talk without as much as taking a break for breathing. “Sir, there are things going on behind the scenes of the company I work for, that are baffling me. I was aware of them, but had no evidence, hence my silence about them. But I can’t keep silent anymore.” So I set the bait with telling about everything I knew about the corporate spy, referring back to information Rogers himself told me. I wanted him to believe I merely connected the dots. It seemed to work. “And forgive me for asking Mr. Hewlett, but did you come to this conclusion all by yourself?” he asked. That was when I started to pull the bait, to see if I can catch this catfish. “Uh…No, no. I had a very valuable asset. You probably know him, it’s Mr. Simcoe. He was away on the day of your interview because he was acting on my behalf by following some people we thought suspicious.” He still pierced me with his stare, and asked “And did your little investigation yield any result?” I shook my head and looked away. “No, sadly. None of us are professional detectives, after all. Yet if it wasn’t for Mr. Simcoe, I wouldn’t know half of the information I presented.” Rogers was too calm. I began to panic, if he’s not going to believe me, but he leaned forward, and said “Mr. Simcoe might be fooling you.” “Why do you say such?” I played along. His next question caught me off-balance though. “How close are your relationship with your subordinate, Mr. Hewlett?” I was proud of myself later for being able to say this without flinching or sweating. “Not too close. We’re on friendly terms, and I know some personal information about him, but nothing else. I’m his boss, and he’s doing what I tell him.” “I suppose he has no knowledge of you seeing his files.” Rogers stated casually. “No, I actually talked with him about his prison record. Actually, I came here on Mr. Simcoe’s behalf as well as my own.”

I tried to sound as confident as I could. It seemed to work. I was positively surprised. I told Rogers my offer, meaning that he arranges a deal with the district attorney to clear Simcoe’s prison record – I told him everything about him being a drug-addict, raped and forced into doing criminal activity for the gang he eventually fled from – and in exchange we help him catch the same corporate spies he was after. His answer was positive. “I suppose I can do that. But I think it would be even better if you yourself would see the attorney in person.” I nodded. “Of course, but I’m a civilian, therefore I have little influence over a lawman’s decisions.” Rogers made a wolf-like snarl that resembled a smile from a certain angle. “Are you sure? As far as my knowledge goes, you are quite close with Mr. Woodhull.” Then it dawned on me. The elder Mr. Woodhull got the title of district attorney, not long after I took my office in Howe & Co. I completely forgot about it until Rogers mentioned. “I’ll see to it that you get your deal if your negotiation with the district attorney turns sour.” I nodded. “Thank you, detective. And thank you for your time, I’m more than glad if I could provide some useful information.” Rogers didn’t share my enthusiasm. “We’ll see about that. Goodbye, Mr. Hewlett!”

My next trip was to Richard’s home. I called him on my way there, and apologised for barging in. He seemed happy to have me as guest, and even asked his daughter-in-law to make tea. “You should visit more often, Edmund!” Richard told me after we were done with the necessary rounds of small talk about weather, children and neighbourhood changes. “I’d love to, but I’m very busy with my work, and…” I made a dramatic sigh. “I don’t even know if I’m supposed to tell you this, but there’s some shady business going on in the company. It is confirmed that there’s a corporate spy working there.”  Maybe it’s just the few months I spent in Simcoe’s company, but Richard’s surprise didn’t seem genuine. I went on, studying his expressions as I spoke. “So far I have no idea of who that person might be. But Simcoe has. He did an investigation with my permission, and found some interesting facts. Though – as you must know – he has a long prison record, so anything he found might be… questionable, to say the least if ever brought to court…” I told him everything about John’s troubled younger years as well, asking if there’s any circumstance we can consider in making a deal with court. Richard was contemplating my words, and I was preparing to defend my argument. Mary came and brought us some home-made biscuits, and then disappeared from sight, like a ghost. I saw a small boy with stark blond hair running through the hall, and another woman after him, but paid no mind to them, especially when Richard spoke again. “I might know a solution for your problem. Corporate espionage is a serious crime, and a serious charge against someone. So you are right, that any and all evidence has to be solid. I propose a deal with your Mr. Simcoe: I will see that his record is cleared if he tells everything he knows, and co-operates with us closely.” I nodded. “Thank you, Richard. I’ll tell him next time I see him.”

But truth be told, I didn’t want to see him. Not now. It was in an ungodly hour again, and I was lying in bed, looking at the ceiling, thinking of John. He confused and vexed me, and now I was about to help him get rid of the ghosts of his past. I had a feeling that it might backfire on me, as one could never be sure about Simcoe’s reaction to things. I glanced over to my phone, and was thinking of calling him, but I wasn’t sure if he was awake or asleep. Besides, what could I possibly say that I can’t tell him tomorrow? I sighed and went to sleep, to be awakened by the beeping of my alarm.

The next day was busy as always, yet my mind kept on wandering. Can I have a future with someone so fundamentally different than me? I knew the cliché phrase, “opposites attract”, but knew also that it only lasts for a short time before said differences start tearing us apart. Yes, I felt sorry for him. Yes, I was mad at him for being a reckless moron. Yes, I knew he’s a wonderful work force. And yes, he has a very nice ass. And a smile that sometimes makes me wonder if I want to slap him, or slap him and then do him right there on my desk. He had a personality, that was like a lot of different people in one body. The cold murdering bastard I hated. The depressed poet I pitied, and the funny, witty biker guy I started falling for. My resolve was tested, and I failed. I knew I need to see him. The sooner the better.

So I went over to his building after work. I found him in front of the main gate, sitting on the edge of the walkway next to his bike, and tinkering with it. His shoulder-length hair was tied back with a black piece of rag, that looked like a ribbon from a distance. It would definitely make me snicker if I weren’t too occupied worrying about how to even address him. “Hello, Ed.” he spared me from the misery of starting the conversation. “What brings you here?” He didn’t even look at me, which equally frustrated and calmed me. “I uh… I have news.” I stuttered. “Could we go inside?” John finally deigned to cast his electric-blue gaze on me and shrugged. “I guess. These wires can wait.” He packed his tools and locked them in the closet when we entered his flat. He then excused himself until he washed his face and hands, giving me time to think about where to start.

“You did what, exactly?” he hissed after I finished telling him about the deal I made for him. “It will be for your benefit.” I defended. “And in which alternate universe would DA Woodhull arrange a deal for me, to clear my criminal record, pray tell?” he snapped at me again. “John, just calm down!” Sadly, my words made him do the opposite. “You sold me out!” he was nearly shouting, and I was taking a few steps backwards. “How dare you ask me to calm down?” “I have a plan, and it will work.” I assured him. “You’ll get to catch the culprit, and be the hero of the company. You might even get promoted.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Yea mate, that’s very likely.” he added on his usual sarcastic tone. “Listen, I was only trying to help you…” I tried to explain, but he wasn’t going to hear me out. “No. You did it out of pity, thinking that arranging a deal for me instead of a sentence will suffice as a form of mercy.” he shook his head. “The only Mercy I acknowledge is the one sitting on top of the shelf.” he pointed at the cat. “I don’t want your pity party, Edmund.” He managed to raise my blood pressure to the same level I usually need at least four coffees to reach. I turned around and left. “See you tomorrow at work, Mr. Simcoe.” I told him as goodbye. “Don’t be late!” I was irate. That damn pride of his could be the downfall of us both.

The following week was hectic and busy, with deadlines creeping on us and corporate meetings testing my ever waning resolve. I never paid rumours much mind, but one of them started to persistently spread among the IT crew as well as all other divisions. That particular morning, I saw Simcoe’s sly smile, and thought I ask around, maybe he knows something. I called him to my office, where he sat down in front of me, his long legs crossed. “Okay John, tell me!” I started. “Why the sudden light mood?” “Why shouldn’t it be light?” he asked. “It’s the best day of my life.” I knew it wouldn’t be wise to ask him why, but I did. So Simcoe put his leg back to the ground and told me. “Oh didn’t you know? André will be fired. Arnold found him canoodling with his wife.” I was shocked. Not by the news, it was kind of an open secret anyway, but the sheer schadenfreude that resonated from John’s whole presence. “And what if people will start spreading rumours about us?” I asked. “Doesn’t it concern you?” He shrugged. “Not the least.” he leaned forward, putting his elbows on my desk, and his head on his hands. “And… Is it the only reason you called?” I seriously didn’t know what to make of his sudden change of behaviour. “No, John… I wanted to talk with you about what we had a fight over the last time.” His features hardened. “Right. Your deal with the enemy. What’s with it?” I sighed, and found myself involuntarily touching his hand. “We need to do one more thing if we want my plan to succeed.”

There was an emergency meeting a few days later, where the figureheads of the corporation discussed the shameful circumstances surrounding Mr. André’s departure from our firm, along with some other matters. They now knew about the corporate spying, and about all data I could muster to present them with. Arnold, Cooke, Clinton, and even the CEO looked at me in slight disbelief despite the evidence. “And did you even know who can stand behind this vile business?” Arnold asked, visibly fuming still from the ordeal with his wife and ex-colleague. I took a deep breath. “Sir, I have very valid reason to believe that the corporate spy we are looking for is…” They looked at me, and I felt it will take all of my resolve to say it. “Simcoe. It is John Graves Simcoe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and for leaving feedback, you're awesome!
> 
> Notes:  
> \- "Black Holes and Revelations" is an album title by Muse. I thought it fitting to this chapter as well.  
> \- Some lines were borrowed from TURN's various episodes, tweaked to fit this narrative. 
> 
> Up next: John and Edmund has a showdown, and there will be a Major Character Injury tag added. Also sarcasm, bitterness and some nasty things flying around in the form of words. Stay tuned!


	16. Famous Last Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is afraid of losing Edmund, but at the same time has worries about his plan. They clash after a slip almost cause the whole house of cards to fall. An accident happens, and some famous last words are uttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!  
> Back with another chapter, and a bit longer one. I hope it will contain some answers to your already existing questions while raising new ones. :D  
> Warnings for this one includes: Mentions of suicide, nasty words, another batch of wonky legal stuff, techblahblah, some violence and Major Character Injury. Someone's about to get hurt real bad here, so proceed with care, and as always, at your own risk.

That was it. The next morning found me in bed, staring at the wall, and barely hearing Mercy’s irritated mewl. I wanted to scream, to burst in tears again, to get out, get drunk and kill myself, but all I could do was staring at the wall in silence.  Then it was all over. The sadness and empty feeling passed, and I was getting ready to go to work. Mercy rubbed her head against my leg, and I leaned down to ruffle her fur. I got a text message when I was taking my coat, and stopped to see it. Hewlett wanted me to stay at home. I know it’s childish, but it made me want to show up even more. My dislocated shoulder still hurt, but not that much to keep me from driving. On my way to the office building I was thinking on what should I do with all this. Rogers kidnapped me and Brewster, and a small voice in the back of my head told me that he already planned everything so we could escape before he came back. I doubted his story of contacting his superiors, because kidnapping and holding us as hostages would cost him his badge. He wanted information, which me and Caleb provided him involuntarily, by simply arguing over matters. That was as clear as the April sky above me. But what will he do with the information we gave him? No court on this side, or over the border would accept evidence that was obtained by force, I knew that.

Then I arrived, got greeted by my co-workers, and almost immediately dragged into Hewlett’s office. “What did you tell them about the reason for your absence?” he asked. “Nothing yet.” I answered truthfully, for he didn’t give me enough time to even say hello to them properly. “Good. Keep it that way. If they insist, lie to them!” Blimey, Eddie… You surprise me with every passing day of our so-called relationship. I couldn’t help but grin. Is he really that “precious cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure” everyone seemed to believe him to be? Of course I obeyed, for I didn’t want to get in trouble. Edmund cooked up a plan to help me with my investigation in the corporate spy case, and in the meantime distract the authorities from me. Sadly, I had no idea of said plan’s full scope, and when the next day he showed up in front of the building that housed my humble abode, he managed to successfully screw my day. We had a fight. You see, I hate to be perceived as being weak. I hate it when people pity me or think that I beg for their sympathy, because I would never. Hewlett’s plan contained a part I would strongly disagree with, in case he asked me before setting it in motion. He wanted to negotiate a deal with court for me, to render my criminal record void. And to achieve that, he told the district attorney everything I never wanted to go public. My addiction, the bad years of my life, the gang, even that I’m on meds and been to therapy ever since I moved in with Joyce. I was livid. Who wouldn’t be? I tell him my deepest, darkest memories and he goes and tells someone who will definitely use it against me at some point? Because – Ed’s good intention be damned – I didn’t trust DA Woodhull. Or his son for that matter. Would it be anyone else, I might not take offence that much. I even heard about a case in the US, where someone’s whole criminal record was cleared for being underage and a drug addict, and also blamed his environment for resorting to crime. I always thought that bloke had some stellar lawyers, or connections I sadly lacked. Getting rid of that prison record would indeed do me a lot of good, but I didn’t want to throw a pity party to achieve that, and tell everyone about my “oh so sad and tear-jerking childhood”. I knew what I was doing. I was aware that what I commit is against the law. I didn’t care. I would do it again if circumstances would force me to. Which might be the case if I get fired from Howe & Co.

After he was gone with telling me not to be late for work the next day instead of saying goodbye, I was pacing to and fro in my room. Mercy knocked a few select books off from my shelf, trying to get my attention to the clock that said feeding time for her. After I refilled her bowl, I sat down and kept on fuming about how stupid I was for forming an emotional attachment for another human being again. As long as I hated everyone, I was above making mistakes, like telling them about my secret fears and traumas. I should have known better. Love is weakness, Mercy is the name of my cat, and trust is a lie. It was the code I lived by for the better part of my life, and it kept me from being dangerously stupid. I flipped the lid of my laptop open, and decided to take matters into my own hands… Then again, that wouldn’t be wise. As much I hated to admit, Hewlett’s plan was a sound one. He just seemed to have a little kick out of humiliating me. I growled indignantly and closed the laptop. I have to wait, and see if Ed’s plan works. If not, there’s still an option for me to “go rogue”, and do it my way. I had to believe that.

The next workday and the one that followed were like any ordinary days. Boring, boring, and a little dull. I found another batch of modified corporate data, and many small things that wouldn’t add up. I still suspected Woodhull, but there were some glitches and corrupted files he couldn’t get access to, or was with me at the time, therefore in no position to snoop around in the mainframe or anywhere else his little weasel-face wasn’t allowed. He must have an accomplice. But who?

I tried to find out, and in the meantime tested the still-born firewall I had to work on for weeks. Remember my big fight with Oyster about modifying the source code to one that Woodhull suggested, therefore risking a giant security loophole? Well, turned out I was right. I tried to access the company mainframe from home, and it took me less than a minute. Someone more skilled could do it in an instant, and if they were carefully hiding their trail, no one could trace them back. However, one of my co-workers must have spotted my activity, because someone started to block me out from the mainframe and security logs, and I had to play a little virtual cat and mouse with them. Whoever they are, they were good. So good actually that I started to doubt that they are working for the same IT crew as me. I knew the handiwork and programming patterns of all of the men who worked under me, very well. This faceless opponent had way more skill and class. They locked me out from the mainframe successfully after a few minutes of waging a war with numbers and symbols, and command lines issued to our machines. I tried to track them, but failed. My respect grew along with my grudge. The unknown hacker defeated me in fair fight. But they didn’t know me. I don’t fight fair, I fight dirty. The next day I modified the source code of the firewall for the mainframe. Get through this, you bloody wanker! After I was done, I took a look around, to see if there was anything amiss. I found nothing, but my suspicion was growing with every minute.

I had my lunch break spent together with Edmund, who insisted on talking with me about work-issues if anyone asked. “We were hacked again yesterday.” he told me. I casually took a bite from my lunch and told him “Tell me something I don’t know.” “Was it you again?” he asked, and I put my fork down. Somehow my appetite was gone. “No.” I answered. After all, that unknown hacker got there before me. “But I saw someone breaking into the main server through the loophole in the new firewall. Fret not, I re-programmed the whole thing.” He hid his face in his palm. “You did what?” I repeated it for him, for it seemed he has troubles with his hearing. “You shouldn’t have done anything without asking me first!” he snapped at me. Well, excuse me for saving your sorry arse Oyster, not going to happen again. “And what was I supposed to do?” I asked, prompting him to give me the eye for a while. “First of all…” uh-oh, he said it. If Hewlett began his speech with “first of all”, you’d better be prepared for getting a serious roast backed up by charts, facts and academic citations. “…You should have told me, right after it happened! Second, the company has strict security measures for cyber-attacks, and you of all people should know them by heart and follow them!” Oh boy. Never in my life before I wanted to punch someone so badly. But I restrained myself, and faced the challenge with reasoning. Cheer for me? “Ed, I couldn’t tell you because I was at home, trying to stop the hacker from doing more damage than they already did. Besides, if the higher-ups get wind of the failure of the heap of manure you call a firewall, you will be neck deep in trouble so you should thank me.” “Let us settle this later today.” Ed sighed, and I took it as a victory. “I have a meeting to attend, so excuse me.” He left me, and I didn’t mind. I had my own business to take care of.

Without going into the boring details, I took some measures to be able to keep an eye on Woodhull and the legal department. His was the first computer that went off, and found cleared of all data, so I installed a little program which tracked his every move. Also I had to take care of heaps of unfinished business from before my abduction, so the day was more than busy. I was quite surprised to get a call from Edmund, to go over to his house. “Is it a business call, or…” I started when he opened the door, but he dragged me inside. “Tell me nobody saw you!” “Right, nobody saw me. Now tell me why am I here?” I was a bit disappointed… After what we’ve been through, I wouldn’t mind snogging or at least a “I’m sorry for leaving you without a word John, also sorry for telling the Woodhulls about your traumatised teenage years in vain hopes of them not turning it against you” but he didn’t want to see me for that. It was a strategical meeting. “We need solid evidence to back up your story of the corporate spy. So far, we have nearly nothing.” he began. I leaned to the wall, for he didn’t tell me to sit down, and he was walking around in the living room like a caged tiger. “We have a hard drive, and the modified files in the security system.” I replied. “Along with my log files that contain records of everyone’s activity from the moment they turn their machines on, until their shift is over.” “And are they somewhere secure?” I nodded. Nobody knew where did I hide everything I found on my little weasel, and I intended to keep it that way. “Good. I need you to hand the evidence over to the authorities as soon as possible!” he said. I nodded again, for it was my intention to begin with.

“Nobody should know about it.” he went on. I rolled my eyes and really started to think that I should have declined to come over. “I got a call from Richard today, and he wants to speak with you about the matter tomorrow. So you should come with me to his residence.” I nodded. It became my habit. To prevent me from saying things I might regret. Then again, I usually realise I shouldn’t say something the moment after I say it, so the whole thing might be futile. “He wants to see me, eh?” I asked. “When? And how will you explain everyone?” Ed had a plan for that as well, as I expected. “We’ll leave separately. I will wait for you down the street, a few blocks away, and you can follow my car.” “All right.” I muttered, still deep in thoughts of another matter. “Pardon?” Ed asked, because he probably missed my confirmation of his plan. “Screw it. Let’s do it!” I said louder. Oyster nodded. I pushed myself from the wall and turned to leave when I felt him holding on to my arm. “Um…” he began to stutter. “Actually I wasn’t calling you over for a business-related conversation. I think we need to have a more…ah personal one.” I felt my eyebrows shifting upwards. “Oh, yea?” I asked. “Guess I have to stay a little longer then.”

Ed led me back to the living room, and sat with me on the sofa I was lying just a few weeks ago struggling with a deadly mixture of chemicals and self-loathing. There was a long pause, and I was waiting eagerly for what he was about to tell me. I hoped for a confession, or at least an apology. But what he said was neither. “There are rumours circling around about our… affair, for no better words. Many of my peers think I let you get away with many transgressions because we’re lovers.” I remembered our deal we made a month ago, after some wild bedlympics. “Why, we aren’t?” I asked, maybe a bit more harshly than I intended. “John, I can’t let my feelings I have for you cloud my judgement in that matter. You shouldn’t let it either. We have to do this professionally.” I didn’t let it show, but his words professionally broke my heart. “So it’s over? Is that what you wanted to tell me?” Edmund shook his head. “No, the contrary. But we have to be more careful.” I sighed. “More careful? How? Not talking in public, then shag in some slummy motel room at the edge of town? My crew think we loathe each other, and frankly, this is the reason why I defy your orders most of the time.” It wasn’t entirely true, but he didn’t have to know that. “Edmund, we are careful. Don’t worry, that makes you look like a depressed frog.” He nudged me, and I finally permitted myself a smile. His face was exactly that froggy. I leaned closer, and kissed him. I can proudly say that I gave everything I had into it, and his confused look was more than worth it. I gave him the eye for a moment then said “Nope, you’re still not a prince.” His face went red, then he kissed back with a fist. I laughed it off, and left him, but had troubles driving with one eye.

The next morning I was leaning to the counter in the office kitchen, trying to silence the noise in my head. Akinbode stepped in and asked with genuine surprise “Who hit you, man?” I cast a threatening look at him with my other eye, and answered “Shut up and give me ice!” He did, and I sat down to one of the unoccupied seats, him sitting next to me. “It looks bad. You should see a doctor.” “Right now, I can’t see anything, so I guess I’ll have to wait until the swelling subsides.” I answered. He let it go, after all it wasn’t anything unusual for me to come to work with a black eye or a bruise or two. I managed to code and do some programming with only one eye open, and got some painkillers and ice from various co-workers. Sometimes it made me think that they actually like me, but that couldn’t be, isn’t it? They just wanted to stay on my good side. Yea, that’s it. My eye got better after a few hours, so when I was about to leave for my lunch-break meeting with DA Woodhull, I was able to open it. I followed Edmund’s car down the road from a distance, and didn’t look at him when we both parked in the front yard of the District Attorney’s residence. Richard Woodhull was just as despicable and weasel-faced as his son. It must be running in the family. Him and Ed shook hands, exchanged niceties, and just when I thought I will be bored to death, the elder Woodhull asked “What happened to your eye?” I flashed my almost-smile at him and answered with “I just got in a bar fight with some moron. An adversary of little note.” Edmund looked at me with a darkened expression and added “I hope it doesn’t hurt too much. You should press charges against that person.” I turned over to him, still wearing my horror-movie villain smile. “Maybe I will.”

The hour or so lunch break we had, went with me reciting every clue I had found, and also had to explain to the DA that the prime suspect in the case is no other than his son. It wasn’t pretty. I got accused of a few crimes myself, also have been called “not the most reliable source of information” among many things, but in the end I presented everything I gathered. Sure there could be more suspects, and as I thought after my run-in with that mysterious hacker, Abraham must have an accomplice. I told them so, and after a long and tedious interrogation, I was sent on my way. Edmund stayed for another round of idle chat. Before I could leave, I was told that in order to clear my prison record, I have to give my name and testify as prime witness, if the case ever makes it to court. The papers were already made, I just had to sign. I took my time reading through them, but to my frustration, I couldn’t find anything that was out of place. I signed, and shook my head, then left. I needed speed and air to clear my head.

When I got back to work, I had a load of error messages on my computer, and some notes from various divisions with hardware problems. I groaned and went on to do my job. It was around 5 in the afternoon when I permitted myself a coffee-break, and went down to the cantina. No one was there except the staff and a lone John André. “It’s the second time I see you here.” I told him as I went over to sit to his table. “Don’t worry, this is the last time.” he said aridly. “Do you have a moment, John?” he asked, and I nodded. “As a matter of fact I have, but let this caffeine addict have his fix first. I’ll be back. You need something?” He smiled and shook his head. “Caffeine is the mildest of your addictions. And no.” I felt a weird thing inside, that was a mix between nostalgia and caution. I remembered the school days and the cantina we spent afternoons writing cringe-worthy poetry and songs, thinking that one day we will make it big. I bought my coffee and went back to my former friend. “How did we end up here?” he asked. “I guess you came by that bloody expensive car, and I rode here on my old faithful steel horse.” I answered and took a sip from my lukewarm whatever Italian name it had. “It’s good to know some things never change.” he laughed. “Yeah, you always loved me for my humour.” I added. “I saw you fixing up a lot of damaged hardware today.” André mused. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing something more important, like fixing the firewall?” I couldn’t help but chuckle as I answered “Well, I supposed to do a lot of things, but you know me, I live to disappoint.” There was a short pause before he turned to me again. “Do you ever think back on the day the band broke up? That if we could just swallow our stupid pride we could make it?” I nodded. “All the time. But since Philomena already made it on Broadway, you should look for another frontman.” “You could do it if you wanted to. Stop being so irritatingly self-deprecating.” I laughed. “Every time I sang, the rain began to fall.” It was true. He began to laugh as well, and I thought how strange life is. We were two kids with the same name and same ambitions. Now we are sitting in front of each other almost two decades later, with no similarities anymore, but our given names. “Why the nostalgia?” I asked suddenly. “Haven’t you heard?” André asked. “I’m getting replaced. Made redundant.” Blimey. It was a surprise for sure. Also it made me feel a bit of happiness, for once in this mess of a lifetime, the perfect, popular John André got screwed, not me. “That’s very unfortunate.” I added on a neutral tone, but he laughed it off. “Cut the crap John, you’re not sorry. And honestly, I don’t blame you.” he looked out the window on that same musing expression then asked me “Did you ever think we’ll end up this way?” No. I didn’t. Actually, I always had a sense that he’ll end up being some star, and I would go down the drain as a face in the crowd, or get killed by another gang member or drug overdose before I reach 40. “I don’t remember if I ever thought about it.” I confessed. “But I also never thought I’ll end up being a bill-paying, people-hating, cat-loving person with serious mental health problems. Yet I’m here.” He looked at me and said “Right. We’re both here. For better or worse.” I finished my coffee and stood up. “Well, goodbye John. I hope I’ll never see your ugly face again!” I grinned. He mirrored it. “Yeah, I hope you’ll call sometime too.” “Definitely.”

Somehow my mood improved greatly after talking with André, and Edmund spotted it. Of course, he summoned me to his office, and asked about it. I told him the news, and in the meanwhile tried not to betray my concern for what a mere rumour can cause. John was shagging the wife of the accounting division’s boss, and everyone knew that. It was unethical to send him away on that term, but actually they didn’t replace him for a rumour. André and Arnold clashed more and more frequently in the past days, which I didn’t pay much attention to because one, I had other problems, and two, I hated them both so the best reaction from me to their feud would probably making some popcorn, sit and watch them fight ‘til death. I told Edmund so. I also told him that maybe he underestimates my connections with my peers, especially after he told me the next step in his plan. It was risky. Very risky, and it could cost me my job, my already established connections, and my reputation, which wasn’t too good to begin with. “There’s no other way.” he explained. “We can’t just barge in and point fingers at Abraham. He has to make a mistake where we can catch him red-handed.” Why, oh why did I have to trust his judgement? “Ed, he gave us more than one occasion to catch him red-handed yet we… no, _you_ didn’t do a thing. If I could do it my way…” he interrupted me “If you could do it your way, the kid would be in a body bag, hidden somewhere in a shallow grave. You have to be patient, and stop this nonsense. We’ll notify the Attorney and all necessary authority figures, but not the higher-ups of the company. Your tale has to be authentic.” I didn’t like it. Not the least. But he was right. As long as everyone thinks that I am the mole, Woodhull can sink in a false sense of safety, and become less cautious. If everything goes according to plan…

Of course, nothing ever goes according to plan, as far as I know. Ed presented the evidence I collected, along with my log files, and all the stuff I did in the last nearly two months. The firm’s leaders had doubts, yet they accepted the fact that I betrayed them painfully fast. I was suspended for some bullshit reason, and suddenly my access to various assets got limited. I took it with a grin, and kept on doing my job. As long as they allowed me. Edmund acted like he didn’t know me, which was unpleasant, but also necessary for the rumours to fade. We successfully made everyone believe we hate each other more than ever. I was afraid it might not be acting on his behalf, and after a week, I was afraid it wasn’t acting on mine either. Then, on a Saturday afternoon, when I was just about wrapping up and going home – I had a cat to take care of after all – he called me on my cell phone. He wanted me to go over to his and talk. He sounded desperate, and I was curious. I’ll make up for my absence to Mercy with some treats later. I kick-started the engine of my old Triumph and rode to Ed’s house. I had so much in my system I wanted to tell him. From the screwed-up plan to set me as a scapegoat ‘til the absolutely stupid thought that the father of our prime suspect would do as much as lift a finger in this case. I had a feeling that actually Edmund wants me to take all the blame and therefore get rid of me. It would explain his sudden change of behaviour. I wanted to ask if I was such a bad partner. Or is it now that he got in my pants, he suddenly lost interest? Or was it what I told him about me? That I was an addict? A criminal? That I manipulated and used my former boss who fancied my looks and were fond of me for a thousand other reasons? 

By the time I arrived I was angry beyond words. You want to talk Oyster? I will talk, but you’ll be crying like a heart-broken teenage girl after I’m done with you. “You’re late.” Hewlett told me instead of greeting. “Oh, sorry for that. I was just enjoying my last minutes of not being near you.” I riposted. As you see, this conversation didn’t have a smooth start. “Come in before someone sees you!” he grabbed my hand. I felt a spark of electricity as he touched my skin. I pulled my hand away. “Wouldn’t they see my bike in your front yard anyway?” I asked, then went inside, pushing him out of my way. I stopped in the middle of his hall and went “Okay, so what do you want to talk with me about?” He hesitated. I felt my rage give some way for the curiosity I felt before leaving the office. “John, we have to stop this.” he stated after a long, tense silence. “We bring the worst out of each other, and I feel whatever was between us is now gone.” I knew it. Got what he needed from me, now he wants me to bug off. But the rotten cherry on top of the shitcake was what he said after that. “You have done enough damage for the company already, so you better prepare for a demotion. You’ll be relocated to another branch of the company, maybe to another country.” I was proud of myself for keeping my cool and not giving him a black eye. “And here I was, thinking I knew the man you really are.” My mad grin occupied my face as I carried on “If I knew in the beginning of what a calculating, cold-hearted, evil bastard you are, I would have think twice to cross you, Eddie. It’s such a shame you like to appear as a weakling.” His words hurt me, so I wanted to find a weapon I can use against him, something that might hurt him the same or more. “You should stay at home on vacation until the relocation’s done and you can travel. There’s enough tension in the company, and wouldn’t want more blood to be spilled…” he said which I interrupted with “Excuse me, but do you see any blood?” Not yet, but if you keep it up, you’ll be nought but a strange smell in the attic. “And what about the corporate spy case? Does DA Woodhull have no more need of me as well? I can’t leave the country as long as there’s an investigation.” To my surprise, Hewlett nodded. “True, but there’s no investigation going on about you anymore.” That means they let the little weasel go on his merry way. Again!

“I can’t believe it!” I shook my head with a grin that was devoid of joy. “All my work was for nothing. You torn what little good reputation I had in the company down to the mud, for nothing.” I raised my face to the ceiling. “You’re such a dildo, Ed.” He made that stupid offended owl face I used to love but now I rather wanted to bash in. “A dil…” he started but I sneered and interrupted him with the explanation. “I’d call you a dick, but you’re not real enough.” He inhaled and retaliated. “I don’t have to sink down to your level to beat you, John. I just have to wait.” “For someone to ride to the rescue?” I inserted, still looking at him. “For you to destroy yourself, just like you did a hundred times over.” I took a few steps closer. “I’m sorry about your pet-project.” I commented. “It’s such a shame I had to resort to ruin it so I could make you see what’s going on.” According to his expression, my shot hit. “Bucephalus… You installed the virus to it?” I spread my arms with a mocking grin. “No shit, Sherlock! And you’d never know if I wouldn’t tell.” I let my arms and my smile fall “You deserve what’s coming for you, Oyster!” It was his turn to shake his head, and chuckle mirthlessly. “Oh, sure. Because it’s all my fault that you act like a moron. Because I’m the dickhead fairy, and I sprinkled asshole dust on your head when you weren’t looking.” Ed’s acidic tone got me off-guard. “But you know, it’s not me, it’s you. And your incurable narcissism and shitty personality! No wonder everyone abandons you sooner or later.” That hit a nerve. I rushed over and pushed him up to the wall, ready to do who-knows-what. “See?” he managed to say between gritted teeth and my hands. “Despite your pretense of control, you can only contain your inner beast for so long. It was about time someone put you down like the mad dog that you are.” I let him go and took a step back. “The same beast you decry is what will always give me the edge. For I’m willing to do what you are not.” I left him without any more words.

Just when I was about to start the engine and leave Hewlett’s front yard in pieces, my phone buzzed again. I ripped it out from my pocket, ready to go back and really give Edmund a black eye, but it wasn’t him calling me. It was Anna. “Mrs. Strong! To what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked. She wanted to see me too. How strange. I should really look the date up in my calendar because it seemed like everyone wanted to have unpleasant conversations with me today. So off I went to Anna’s pub. It was still open, and she shepherded me to her office. “John, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have say those things to you. You were nice and helpful, and you were right, I never even thanked you properly…” she showered me with these honeyed words yet something was amiss. “I would never even think about that you have ulterior motives if I knew that you and Edmund…” she went on but I interrupted her with a loud, irritated groan. “Anna, please stop it! I know you’re not sorry. I know you don’t even like me, so for fuck’s sake, stop pretending! And there’s nothing between me and Edmund anymore, he just broke up with me. So for the sake of keeping my faith in at least your humanity, I politely ask you to cut the crap.” There was so much I could take but I was near my limits. “Can I at least offer you a drink?” she asked, and her concern sounded genuine. “No, thank you. I’m driving.” And I did. I needed the solitude of my flat, to hide away from everyone before I end up killing someone. I gained speed, and focused on the road to help me chase away the anger and sorrow.

My mind was racing faster than the machine under me. I slalomed through traffic, and couldn’t wait to get out to the open road. I increased speed again, and tried not to think about Edmund, or the stopped investigation, or that I will probably lose my job because now everyone thinks that I am the spy I was looking for. But most importantly Edmund. I admit my words might be harsher than I intended them to be, but what he told me in return hurt really bad. We were done and over with. No changing of that. Oh well, I guess I’ll survive. I was closing to a cross on the road, and I wanted to slow down but something wasn’t right with the brake. I sighed and took a glance to see what can be the problem. I should have been more careful. Maybe if I weren’t so damn upset, I could avoid the loud crash, and the pain and the darkness that followed.

 

Voices. I heard them calling out to me. They were saying things like “Can you hear me?” and “Sir, please try not to move!” “Stop the bleeding!” “Sir, please stay still!” “He’s in shock, we gotta go!” A wise person once told me that if something hurts, it means you’re alive. Well, according to that logic, I was very much alive, because my body was a huge hurting mess. I shifted in and out of consciousness, seeing the blinding light of the lamp in the operating room, or the blurred lines of the faces of nurses and doctors. Next time I woke up, I was in casts and bandages from head to toe. My hospital record said I have multiple broken ribs, a skull and spinal fracture, broken hipbone, open breaks on both of my legs and left arm, and some injured internal organs. I was lucky to have all of my limbs actually. A nurse saw that I’m up, and immediately ran for the doctor, who came. And wasn’t alone. I was prepared to see anyone, from the Grim Reaper to Saint Peter, but it was no other than good old Edmund, walking in. I think I was lucky again for not being able to move, because I simultaneously wanted to get up and punch him in the face and break down and cry in the corner, mixed with a strange sensation of bliss for seeing his face. “It was wise of you to come while I was weakened…” I managed to press out as something resembling of human speech. “How are you, John?” he asked, ignoring my comment. “Well, alive.” I arranged the remains of my face into a sneer “I know it must be very disappointing to see.” His face didn’t betray anything about his thoughts. And it wasn’t the first time in our mutual history, that I suspected Goody-two-shoes Eddie to hide some pretty dark stuff inside his head. “You know, I wanted to let go of you John.” he sat beside me on the edge of my bed. I tried to turn my head towards him, but it resulted in a jolt of electricity going through the whole length of my spine and made me cry out loud. “Don’t try to move or you’ll spend the rest of your miserable life in a wheelchair!” I heard Ed scolding me. “You almost died. They were operating on you for half a day, it would be a shame if it would be all in vain.” I needed no more convincing to stay still. The effects of my meds slowly began to fade, as I was lying in silence, with Edmund sitting by my side. “Why are you here?” I asked, just to say something. “As I said, I wanted to let you go.” he stated on that same, strange tone. “I still do, as a matter of fact. But I wanted to apologise.” I managed to cough in a fashion that could be called laughter with a degree of good will. “For what?” That darkness was looming over me, and it was sure as hell that I didn’t want to die with the last face I ever saw was Ed’s. “For what I told you. You need help, and not one more person who lets you down.” “Gee, that’s so sweet…” I sneered “I’d really hug you, but…” I tried to shrug which resulted in the same painful experience of my body’s short circuit. I heard Ed call for the nurse, as I tried to regain my composure. Actually, I wanted to tell Edmund a lot of things that would just never leave my head were I not drugged out of my mind and on the verge of death. “Ed…” I managed to groan as suddenly everything became clear, and the pain of my broken bones reached my brain. He turned back to me, and maybe touched my hand, but I couldn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel anything. Only my shrieking ribs and legs and arm and broken head. I wanted to shriek too, but instead I managed to inhale and not add panic to the mixture as the nurses came back, and stuck a huge syringe and needle into me, filled with sedatives. "I'm sorry that I'm this toxic, neurotic mess.” I spoke, fixing my eyes on his hand. “I'm sorry I dragged you into my madness." I felt like the effects of whatever meds the paramedic gave me started to kick in, and I was losing my grip on reality. I already said too much. "I'm sorry I always push you away, just when you think you got close enough." I barely could see Ed's hand. Was it the drugs or my tears, I couldn't decide and couldn't care less. I swallowed the knot that was desperately trying to tie my throat, to prevent me from saying anything else. But I needed that out of my system. Edmund still stood next to my bed, holding my hand, but I couldn't see him, or anything anymore. "If you want to let me go, then go. Leave.” I said, barely more than a whisper. “Run while you can, because I can't change.” I lost consciousness then, still hoping somewhere that these won't be my "famous last words".

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and for the feedback! You guys make my world go 'round.
> 
> Notes:  
> \- Chapter title, "Famous Last Words" is actually a thing going on in tabletop rpg players, meaning they record the funny, witty or just plain stupid last sentences/words their or their friends' characters uttered before perishing in one way or another. (An example would be "Nah, this can't be a dragon, we're only level 1.")
> 
> \- As far as my limited historical knowledge go, the real John André and John Graves Simcoe were on friendly terms with each other, so in this fic, this is also a thing that goes against the TV show's portrayal. 
> 
> \- Some dialogue were borrowed from the show. You'll probably know where and from when.
> 
> Up next: Reckoning. What was Rogers' plan? And why did he kidnap Caleb and John? In the meanwhile, we'll see the other side of the corporate spy operation. (Yes, good news for Ben fans, he'll feature! Finally! )


	17. Interrupt Nr.4: Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb tells Abe about Rogers, who catches him and threatens him. Ben reflects on the three years he spent on planning the espionage on Howe & Co. Abe gets caught, and gets arrested!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, hello dearest readers!  
> This one is the - hopefully - last transitional chapter, and it will be plot-heavy, to say the least. The whole operation is revealed, and I hope nobody will be disappointed by what I bring to the proverbial table this time. This chapter also signals the imminent closing of the corporate-spies arc, so in case you're here for it, I might ask you a favour: I'm kinda gathering info on where to go from here. The whole story is already planned, but nothing is set in stone, so there's plenty of room to insert whatever plotline you, the audience would prefer. So I ask a simple question: Continue with a counter-plan from the corporate spy organization, or close the arc and continue as planned, with the aftermath and more character-drama/domestic fluff?  
> Tell me in the comments below!  
> Also, the usual warnings apply, but frankly, if you've been reading this for 17 chapters, you know what to expect. ;) Still, proceed at your own risk!

And just to spam you guys with something I made recently: [New Haywire Cover](https://myturnstuff.blogspot.com/2018/06/haywire-new-cover.html)

Okay, sorry about that. Let us continue with the chapter:

* * *

 

 

_Living on a razor’s edge, balancing on the ledge_

_Living on a razor’s edge you know, you know_

_The evil that men do lives on and on…_

Caleb was running as fast as his feet were capable of. Not that he expected Simcoe to follow, the bastard only attacked when he knew he had the upper hand, but because he knew he has to tell Abe that the operation is in danger. Rogers surely knew something, and he foolishly fell to his trap, and nearly betrayed information.

He needed to get out of the woods, back to the outskirts of the city to have signal, so he can text Abe and maybe call Ben and the cavalry. God knows they need all the help they can get. A soon as he re-entered civilisation, he fished his phone out from his pocket and sent a message to Abe.

_“The cabbage has maggots.”_

 

Something was wrong with his cell though. Caleb turned the device upside down, took a look at its back, and he spotted it. It was barely visible, and he wouldn’t have noticed if he weren’t paranoid enough to check his phone for bugs every now and then. A tiny device that tracked his calls and messages. Caleb went to the nearest trash can and crushed the phone along with the bug, then dropped the remains into it. He knew he has to disappear.

* * *

 

Abe was at Anna’s place when he got the message. He knew it was a danger signal, and that Caleb’s got in trouble.  He told her so, and she went to call Ben. “We should have done this much earlier.” Anna grumbled, as she was waiting for the line to be picked up. Abe was beyond paranoid, he was sure Simcoe got his trails and that he will be captured. Anna wanted to know what to do to cover their tracks and maybe save the operation. They milked Howe & Co. for information for years now, and everything went fine until a certain ginger big bird decided to spit in their soup. “We got to get rid of him.” Abe stated. “And Hewlett too. He might know something as well.” Anna covered the mic on her phone with her hand and turned to Abraham. “Hush. Don’t jump to conclusions until we don’t know what happened.” Ben answered the line, and Anna told him everything they knew. He said he will help them as much as he could without leaving Hamilton & Sons, in D.C.

Abe didn’t feel relief, though he knew it was the best he could hope from their friend at the moment. He said goodbye to Anna, and went to go home. He didn’t expect to be swung at the head and thrown into a car’s trunk, just like his self-proclaimed nemesis and friend did, only hours ago.

 

“You have been a naughty boy, weren’t you?” He heard, dragging him out from unconsciousness. Abe opened his eyes, and tried to look for the source of the voice speaking to him. All he saw was dirt, and he started to feel the damp soil under his face. “You poisoned an executive of the firm you work for, and shot a lab technician that got too close to uncover your tracks.” Abe lifted his head and finally could see Rogers standing nearby. He fought himself to sitting position and backed away until he felt a tree against his back. The detective took a few steps closer. “Sorry for ruining your little game of hide and seek…” he said. “…but it has come to an end now.” Abe swallowed a knot that he felt in his throat. “What do you want?” he asked. “I want to end an investigation that dragged on for way too long.” Rogers answered. “And you will help me, little ferret.” Abe wanted to object, but he changed his mind when he thought about his situation. No one knew where he went. The last person he was seen with is Anna. If the old cop shoots him here, out in the woods and makes him disappear, everyone would suspect her. He nodded. “And why do you need my help?” he asked. Rogers sat down on a tree stump. “You know the dirty secrets of the corporation you work for. And also know some dirty secrets about its higher-ups.” he stated. “The name John André is probably familiar to you as well.” Abe nodded again. “I know him. What’s your business with him?” He was afraid to ask, but he tried to buy some time to figure out how to escape. “Well, it is an old story.” the investigator mused. “And it was no surprise to me that all its threads tied up here. André sent me on a false trail, and he got away with a bigger crime, but that is of no importance now.” Abe stared at Rogers’ face like he was afraid if he blinked, his life would be over. “All I want, is revenge on him.” the bear-sized detective finished his tale. “What about me?” Abe risked another question he wasn’t sure he wants to know the answer for. “Have no illusions, your little merry gang of a barmaid, a street-thug and the federal agent lad will be held responsible for what you did. But you might get a lighter sentence.”

* * *

 

As he was standing in his father’s hall, Abe was still unsure how he got out from Rogers’ grip alive. He saw Hewlett and Simcoe entering, and talking with Richard for a long while. Abe hid in a guest room, and tried to eavesdrop on them. After his guests left, DA Woodhull went to prepare some documents along with the ones he had signed by Simcoe and Hewlett. Abe acted like he was just coming home, and made some excuses to Mary about his work taking so much of his free time away. He also played a little with their son, and around dinner time, when he knew his father will be out of his office, Abe snuck in and flipped through the papers. They were bad news. All evidence, damning evidence was presented and it seemed like Hewlett wants to charge him with corporate espionage. He also saw that Simcoe would be the key witness, for he was the one finding everything. Abe fished his phone out and took pictures of all of the documents and their contents. He can’t go to trial. He can’t go to prison. He just put his phone back to his pocket when he heard footsteps. He turned around to face Mary, blocking the doorway. “Whatever it is you’re doing” she said “Don’t. We can’t afford to lose you.” Abe made his best innocent face as he said “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just checked the printer, for I will need to print some documents too, and I wanted to know if there’s enough paper for that.” Mary lowered her stare and nodded. “Of course. I tell Father he should buy office supplies the next time he goes out.” she said then left. Abe sighed in relief.

* * *

 

Anna was surprised to see Abe hiding in her office. “What the…” she was going to ask, but he interrupted. “I know how to get rid of Simcoe.” Anna glanced behind her shoulder and back to Abe. “How?” He showed her the photographs he made with his phone. “I sent it all over to Ben. He made a plan. All we have to do is follow it, and the whole ordeal will be over quickly.” Anna nodded. “Right.” Abe sighed and sat down. “Do you know where’s Caleb?” he asked. She answered with shaking her head, but then she heard someone entering the pub. “Looks like this is our lucky day.” Anna commented, as Caleb casually made his way to the office. “Where the hell have you been? And what happened, why didn’t you pick up your phone?” Abe went on and on, but Caleb stopped him after a while. “Rogers took me to some god-forsaken warehouse along with your friend, Simcoe. It seems the old bear has some unfinished business with the ginger psycho. He bugged my phone, so I had to throw it away and hide until things calm down.” Abe nodded. “Yeah, he got me too. He wants to really catch some guy, who has something to do with an old case. We might use it against him.” Caleb bent his head to the side then changed the subject. “Do you have anything for Ben?” Both Abe and Anna started to talk about the plan, and the upcoming trial, and that the operation is dust. Caleb tried to convince them to at least take turns in talking, and not pour everything on him in chorus. “All right, here’s what we’ll do: Anna, call Simcoe and tell him you want to see him. I don’t know, say you want to have a date with him, or anything that maniac will believe.” Caleb was confident in Ben’s plan. And he also believed that they can save the operation. Abe was looking at him with puppy eyes, eager to do something as well. “You go back to your father’s office, and see if he has anything new about the trial. Also check on Hewlett! We may need to eliminate him as well.” Abe nodded, and left the pub before anyone noticed. Caleb sighed and waited until Anna finishes the phone call. “Well?” he asked, seeing her sour face. “He’ll come here.” she stated. “What are you going to do?” “First of all, hide.” Caleb answered. “Then I’ll probably see to his bike.” Anna raised her brow. “I have a few bikers frequenting my place. How will you know which one is his?” Caleb didn’t answer but he knew. Simcoe’s Triumph had a mark on it, made by Caleb himself, back in the day when both of them were members of two warring criminal gangs. After the tall brit killed his uncle, he marked his vehicle. It couldn’t be seen by the naked eye, only with a special kind of flashlight Caleb carried around for that purpose only. He saw Simcoe parking in front of Anna’s pub, and waited until he and Anna began to talk, then he went over to the parking motorcycles, and searched for the mark. He found it pretty quickly, then he proceeded to tamper with its brakes. He knew that whatever may happen in the pub, Simcoe will hit the road at full speed. Caleb hoped he’ll drive far away before crashing onto the trees, or the guard rail bordering the road.

Abe was relieved when he got the news of Caleb’s success. He went back to the pub, telling Mary some BS about work, and another batch of photos made of some documents. He already knew Ben could successfully hack into Howe & Co.’s server, blocking the only attempt to track him, and falsified and deleted many damning evidence against him. Now, with Simcoe out of the picture, they can go back to where they were. Hewlett seemingly suspected his second to be the corporate spy, so Abe knew they can use that. They can forge evidence pointing to Simcoe, and when everything is quiet again, they can start leaking information about the company to theirs. Just like they did. The pretty uninteresting sports broadcast was interrupted by the evening news, which Abe only paid attention to because of the coverage of a recent traffic accident. A truck had a crash with a biker. No news were told about the latter’s condition other than it’s critical. “Well, well.” he heard Anna. “It seems the troubled Mr. Simcoe is in heaven now. And we made it.” Abe however, wasn’t sure about his nemesis’ demise. “A critical condition is not death. We accomplished nothing.” he said. The evening turned sour.

* * *

 

A few days earlier, Ben was sitting in the office, trying to shut out the chatter of his co-workers. He got the news of the ongoing inside investigation of Howe & Co., and it concerned him. He knew if Abe screws up, it can mean the end of it all. And Ben didn’t want to waste the past three years of his life he invested into this job. Three years ago, he got tasked by the firm he worked for to establish a team of field agents, he will plant into the telecom company over the border. His superiors wanted information about new technologies, blueprints, product info, anything they could use against their rival. Ben knew some people he trusted to be able to get what his bosses need. Also, with his connections, he would be able to help them in their task. So he went and contacted Caleb, a long-time undercover agent working for the FBI, and not to mention his best friend. He then went and found Abe, and Abe found Anna. All of Ben’s childhood friends and neighbours from his hometown. It took one year of training and many legal tricks to be able to deploy them over the border, but he managed it with the help of another friend. The last two years were like child’s play. Abe turned out to be a decent spy, and he managed to peek into every little detail of every new invention or investment the company made. Shit hit the fan when the manager of the IT division got into a fight with Abraham, and found out that he smuggled documents out from the office. Abe was in trouble also because Joyce found said documents. Ben got the distress call, and made the solution. They thought it was over, but then this Hewlett fellow came, and things got worse and worse from there. And now, Caleb called him again with another batch of bad news. “Woody’s been caught.” he told Ben over the secure line. “If we don’t do something soon, he’ll be put on trial. You got to make a distraction, or something that can clear Abe’s name.” Ben did that. He hacked into Howe & Co.’s main server through the hole they made into the firewall by suggesting an algorithm Ben invented to Hewlett, and he was successful in evading the only attempt by an unknown but persistent hacker to block him out. He modified data, erased some evidence, and planned to do as much damage as it was possible, then after listening to the recording of the bug Abe planted into Hewlett’s office, he had another plan. “We will use Simcoe as a scapegoat.” he told Anna over the same secure line he used to talk to every one of them. “If you can get rid of him, good. But if not, we’ll need to arrange things like he was the one snooping around Howe & Co., and selling information to us.” He didn’t expect Rogers to show up though. When Caleb told him about it, he knew that they have to act quickly, and maybe get another few of those kill-pills ready.

* * *

 

Abe was exhausted from the pressure of his work, and the constant fear of getting caught. Simcoe survived the accident, though was hospitalised for a long while. Hewlett had too much work to do now, that his second was no longer around to keep his underlings in line, so the IT division was in complete chaos. Perfect. With the stress levels high as the sky, no one would bat an eyelid if the troubled manager would drop dead. Especially – Abe thought – because his death could prevent a long and expensive lawsuit for the whole company. He’ll deal with Simcoe later. He was telling as such for Anna, who somehow seemed reluctant. “I don’t know, we shouldn’t do it…” she said. “What about the conviction you had before? The “let’s bring down the empire of corporations and oligarchs”? The kind of scum Hewlett and his fellows are?” Abe asked. Anna sighed. “Edmund is not like that!” “Now it’s only “Edmund”? How close you got to him while I wasn’t looking?” Abe sounded offended, while Anna sounded tired. “I won’t do it! I will not give him the pill, and if you want to stay out of prison, you won’t either!” They were sitting in her bedroom, half-dressed after their evening cuddle. Abe stood up and walked around. “We’re close to being compromised by him, and you know that! We have to kill him.” Anna shook her head. “I will not do it. I can’t. Besides, who would you put the blame on? Simcoe is in a hospital, with all of his bones broken, and if we’re lucky, he’ll spend the rest of his life dribbling in a wheelchair.” Abe stopped and crossed his arms. “You’re right about that. But we can still make it look like it was a suicide. Hewlett told you he had an affair with Simcoe, and everyone would believe he killed himself because it ended. We could make it, and go back to work.” Anna was about to answer, but her front door opened, and suddenly a whole squadron of policemen entered, forcing Abe down on the ground and cuffing his hands. “Abraham Woodhull, you are under arrest for corporate espionage.”

 

It was a long two days, until Mary finally came and sat in front of him over a glass panel. Her eyes betrayed her despite her calm façade. She was furious. “Is it true?” she asked. She held a file, which raised Abe’s attention, but he couldn’t ask about it. Not yet. “It’s not. It’s a misunderstanding.” Abe tried to save what little could be saved. Mary wasn’t having it. “Misunderstanding? Catching you half-naked with Anna Strong was a misunderstanding?” she turned away. “And I was under the assumption that you were cheating on me. But if that’s a misunderstanding, I think the charges against you for spying in the corporation you work for is also just a misunderstanding.” She pushed the file inside to the other end of the glass panel. “This is from your father.” she said coldly. “Read it through, so I can tell him if you have any questions.” Abe opened the document, and flipped through the pages. The DA was meticulous in preparing his son’s case, and even called for a lawyer in his stead. But what caught Abe’s attention was another document crammed under the case file. “What is this?” he asked. Mary made a cold sneer. “Well, well. I thought you would recognize a petition for a divorce, being a lawyer and all.” Abe’s eyes widened, and he was unable to say anything. Mary stood up and left. Abe flipped back to read his father’s files again. He couldn’t afford to lose it now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is it for now, my dearests. I hope I can return soon with another Edmund's POV chapter, until then, see you around! <3
> 
> Notes:  
> \- Quote in the beginning of this chapter is from the song "The Evil That Men Do" by Iron Maiden. 
> 
> \- The reason for the feud between Rogers and André will be revealed in another fic I'm planning to write, and is a part of the Haywire -'verse. Exact date of publish is unknown, it depends on ideas, and -of course- free time. 
> 
> \- Some dialogues were borrowed from the show, various seasons, various episodes.
> 
> Up next: Edmund is unsure about what to do. While getting used to the idea that he is very much in love with John, he also feels like giving him another chance might end him up in a web of an abusive relationship. Also the trial begins!


	18. May The Stars Guide Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed rethinks his decision to break up with John, and he moves in with him for the time of his convalescence. He's worried about his ex-lover's alarming physical and mental condition. A confession is made and rejected again, and there's also news about the trial which we'll see in its entirety in another chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again dearests!
> 
> I took my remaining free days and put them to "good use", so I could provide this chapter before going on a hiatus for a short while. I'm still not sure when my classes will begin, and also have lots of IRL stuff to care about, so I think I'll take some time off of writing. Again. (I also have a lot of projects I want to give my attention to along with this one.) Additionally, there is a huge issue I will address in the notes under the chapter, so please read those as well!  
> So, without further ado, here's... No, not Wonderwall, but today's chapter. The usual warnings apply, so proceed with care and at your own risk!

After John was gone I felt myself sliding down the wall, and sat on the floor for a long while. I heard him outside, talking to someone on the phone, but I couldn’t make the words out. I didn’t care. I wanted this mad dog, this violent son of a gun out of my life. Maybe this was my reason for not telling the higher-ups in Howe & Co. about our plan and agreeing with his relocation. For the past week, after I started my plan I felt that something was amiss. Of course I wasn’t really afraid of the rumours spreading about us, yet I couldn’t help but think about all the shady business John got himself into ever since he set foot in the company. And today he just confessed that he sabotaged my project. What if this all was an elaborate ruse, and he indeed was the corporate spy? He was hell-bent on finding evidence against Abraham to have a scapegoat. But what if he tells the truth? No matter, I can no longer go after him and ask. I sighed. I might need to give him a few days to cool down before attempting to talk with him again. Yes, this is what I will do.

Then I heard the news. I tried to call John, and someone else picked it up. It was a nurse and she told me which hospital to go to if I want to see my “friend”. I went there, had a little debate with hospital staff, then got entrance, and could sit and wait while the man I thought I hate but loved was fighting for his life on an operating table. I was told by the doctors that the injuries he sustained could be fatal. But they didn’t know him. John Graves Simcoe wasn’t like any other man. He survived the operation, and he gave me his usual sass while being barely conscious and under the influence of some drugs that would knock an elephant out. I came to see if he’s alright, and to tell him it’s over. But when I looked at him, heard him asking for my forgiveness and begging me to run, I changed my mind. How could I do that? How could I abandon him, when he was clearly in need of someone to care for him? Suddenly I saw the little boy, who barely survived a car-crash. I saw the wild, disobedient teen, who got in trouble with the police and ran away to sell his body and soul to the highest bidder while the only thing he craved was one night of peaceful sleep. The young man who was ruthless and cynical because this was how he survived so far. I brushed his hair out of his face. “Whatever bad happened, it’s in the past now.” I whispered, standing next to his bed, still holding his hand which was now rather stiff and cold under the cast and bandages. “It’s time to tend the garden again. To grow. To let go of the things you think that define you, while in fact they’re only holding you back, like a rusted anchor.” His chest lifted and sunk to his shallow breathing. I asked the doctor and nurses to contact me if his condition improves, and left.

There was another breach in the firewall. Many important corporate data leaked and I had every single person with a level of superiority over me yelling at my face. I suddenly missed John. His absence made me realise that he acted like some sort of firewall for me as well. I could bear being held responsible for his shenanigans and insubordinate behaviour, but right now it seemed I was to blame for the inefficiency of my division. And then there was the fiasco with Abraham. I still had doubts about Simcoe’s story, that the younger Mr. Woodhull was the corporate spy. He was a good prime suspect, even his father agreed on that, but there were some holes in my second’s testimony. And I still couldn’t get rid of the thought of John being the real culprit while setting Woodhull up. I was thinking and thinking until my head hurt, and I kept on rambling about everything not-related to my problem to Anna, who was listening to me patiently. She inquired about John’s health, and mine too. My head was full of concerned thoughts, which I could not disclose to her. Busy days and sleepless nights passed and I found myself more or less back on track with the IT division.

There was a debate about some necessary changes in the governing system of the corporation, and I was worried it might affect my division. I already voted for John’s relocation to another branch, somewhere in a different city, but after André got sent away and turned out that multiple other workers are getting replaced, I wanted to discuss the matter with HR. Abigail was talking with someone on the phone, so I waited until she hangs up. I didn’t want to eavesdrop on her, but I involuntarily heard what she was talking about. “I told you all I know, Annie. I really can’t risk anything more at the moment. I’ll call when things cleared a bit.” I cleared my throat and she hastily said goodbye and hung up. I started thinking. Anna never told me about knowing Abigail, but that doesn’t really mean anything. But what did she tell her? Why she can’t risk, and what? For a moment, I was completely lost in thought and she had to ask me if I wanted something. “I uh… I just wanted to discuss the status of an employee of my division.” I managed to say. She typed something to her computer, and asked me who I wanted to discuss and why. I told her about John, and her face darkened a shade. “I heard about him. I hope he will be fine.” she told me, yet I felt some dissonance in her voice that told me she’s hiding something. “You know I voted for his relocation, and I really think we should revoke that.” I said, casually eyeing a piece of paper in my hand. “He had a spinal fracture, so even if he will be able to use his legs, he’ll need to learn to walk again, and his convalescence might take months, if not a whole year or more.” I added. “With these conditions in mind, I would ask you to void my request for Mr. Simcoe’s dismissal and relocation.” Abigail nodded. “It will take some time, but I see what I can do.”

About a week and a half later I decided to check on Simcoe. I procrastinated because I still had conflicting thoughts and feelings about him. I wanted to see him, yet at the same time was content being without his usual sass and annoying antics. I entered the hospital room he was occupying alone, and found him much more lively than last time. He was probably drugged and bored out of his mind, because I could hear his falsetto singing from the end of the corridor.

_“…A celebrated man amongst the Gourneys/They can fix me proper with a bit of luck_

_The doctors and the nurses they adore me so/But it’s really quite alarming, ‘cause I’m such an awful fuck… Why thank you!_

_I gave you blood, blood, gallons of the stuff/ I gave you all that you can drink, and it has never been enough_

_I gave you blood, blood, blood… I’m the kind of human wreckage that you love!”_

I stepped in just in time for the performance to end. “Oh, hi.” John said, directing his gaze towards me. “What brings you to my humble tomb, Oyster?” I managed to force a smile on my lips as I stepped closer and answered with “I just wanted to see if you’re all right.” John made a “mmm” sound. “I’m fine.” he told me. “However, there is something I need to ask…” I pulled a chair next to his bed, and sat down. “Ask away.” He tried to turn his head towards me and I noticed that he winced. “Okay, okay… Don’t move!” I stood up and held his face back from moving. He grew a short beard during his stay in his hospital bed. I wanted to ask if he had someone to take care for him, but I assumed he probably sent the nurses away. He was more or less clean, and still had tubes in most of his body parts, and only a thin blanket as cover for modesty. I had a feeling that he’s not that “fine” as he claims to be. “Could you check on Mercy?” he asked, stopping my train of thoughts. “I had Akinbode over a week ago and asked him, but I haven’t seen him since. Abby said he’s on a business trip, so he won’t be around for a while.” I nodded. I completely forgot about the cat. “Do you have a spare key?” I asked. “No, but my keys are in the pocket of my coat.” he answered, looking at the ceiling. “Open the dresser next to my bed, and you’ll find it. Abby left it there, or so I’m told.” I went over and opened the drawers to look for John’s keys. His clothes were torn and bloodied and dirty. No one bothered to bring him clean ones. That again made me think.

I talked with him for a while before a nurse came in and sent me away. I promised John to be back in a few days, and that I will take care of his cat for him. If I had any clue about what I get myself into, I’d probably shove that awful little thing into a box and take it into the nearest animal hotel to stay until its owner is healed. I heard noises from John’s apartment long before I even got close to his door. The scene that unfolded before me after entering is best described as “there appears to have been a struggle”. Various smaller decorations and even furniture was scattered and broken all over the place, books soiled and torn, cushions randomly thrown across the room…and in the middle of it all sat that horrible thing, grooming its fur. Which – I have to add – was also found everywhere in the flat. The stench of cat urine was unbearable, and both of the animal’s feeding vessels were empty. I wanted to go and ask Abigail about when was the last time she came over to see the cat. The monstrous little being then suddenly bumped its head into my leg, which made me freeze. It then mewled so loudly that I was afraid the whole neighbourhood heard it. I took a look into the fridge but it was empty except for some leftovers which were in dire need of being put to the garbage. The cupboards held no food for the cat either, so I had to go out and buy a can of whatever for it. You would think that buying cat food is easy. Well, I was standing in front of a display shelf full of cat food, and all of them was different from the other. What should I give that foul creature to avoid directing its wrath to my person? Fish? Beef? Chicken with carrots and cheese? A tasty ragout made of cream and spinach and lamb? Or rabbit stew? Damn cats had better food than what I found on the cafeteria menu. Again, I felt absolutely ashamed for being so inexperienced with cats. Horses, I could handle. Dogs I had ever since I was born. Cats always scared me, and I never liked them for some reason. Those eyes… And those fangs, and those claws and that sassy, untameable, violent nature… As I watched Mercy stuffing its furry little belly with meat and gravy, I realised that Simcoe reminds me of a cat. It all made so much sense.

I came back every day after work to feed and clean the cat, and slowly clear the debris after the animal’s rampage. I also found John’s dresser opened and many of his clothes thrown to the floor, having suspicious stains and paw prints on them, so I gathered all his stuff and took them to cleaning. I also had child-locks installed on his drawers. I slept at his place once because it was too late for me to drive home after I finished cleaning. I laid my head to sleep on the sofa, when that small predator jumped at me, and tried to smother me while making some scary rumbling noises. John later told me that Mercy was probably purring, and she only wanted to cuddle with me. Well, hell no. I locked her up in John’s bedroom, and went back to sleep. Which I couldn’t. I always caught myself staring out to the starry night sky. I got up and went out to his balcony, and leaned to the bannister. Below me, several stories under, there were cars and people going by. I saw the skyline and the moon, and suddenly I felt like I was home. In that small little flat, that wasn’t even mine to begin with. The only thing that was missing from this pseudo-idyllic setting was John himself. I thought about what would it be like to sleep next to him. Or stand on the balcony and debating science, or poetry, or history or anything we could come up with until dawn. To share a morning coffee before work. I could even get used to his annoying cat. Then my dreamy state of mind gave way to my rational self. John and I could only sleep next to each other again if I suffer a similar accident, and end up in the same hospital room. Debating any kind of topic with that man ended up in an open battle, which he always won no matter if he was right or not. Our taste in beverages differed greatly, even when it came to coffee. And I know I could never get used to that cat climbing up to me and staring into my soul. I sighed and went back to sit on the sofa. The cat was there. I backed away as it raised its head and bared its fangs in a yawn that threatened to swallow me, the moon and the whole neighbourhood at once. Yet I had to sleep somewhere… My morning alarm woke me curled up in John’s bed, my head half on a pillow, half on his t-shirt he was wearing the last time he slept in here. And despite what my rational mind said, I found myself wishing that he was in that shirt, lying next to me.

I spent more and more time at his flat, even brought some of my own belongings over. I still worked in over hours to keep the division running despite Simcoe’s absence. His workload was enough for three other employees we needed to hire in his stead. But none of them possessed the same experience or determination, and problems began to rise. I had literally no time to breathe between meetings and error messages. My head was spinning all the time when I finally closed the door of John’s apartment behind my back. Another month has passed. April turned to May, May turned to June, and when I said “home”, I was thinking about the small apartment on the seventh floor on the street where John lived. I became fluent in cat-food and litter brands, read multiple books on the wretched creatures, but still haven’t find a way to settle the savage side of the snow-coloured mini panther that shared a home and a man with me. I visited John on every weekend, but the doctors kept him sedated, for he couldn’t stay on his ass and tried to move, which could easily result in paralysis. I brought him clean clothes, even sanitary products. I kept on talking to him, and as I held his hand it felt warmer every day. Or were my senses playing a trick on me?

I came to hear his singing again one particularly hot day in June. My heart made a little exclamation, but I was positive it would be better if he will not see my enthusiasm. I already knew he has been off from his strong sedatives, and was able to sit, so he was often occupying a wheelchair instead of his bed. Still the state of his mind had me worried. “If you’re happy and you know it, share your meds!” John sang. If I had any doubts about the quality of the drugs they gave him, this whole conversation made me forget them. “I think I better call the nurse.” I told him. “Nah. Party pooper.” he gave me a dirty look. “Why do you want to get me down from my high?” He even managed to turn his head a bit. I knew it resulted in a serious problem last time, so I hurried to the nurse’s desk. When I got back John still had his head contorted into that weird position. “You shouldn’t do this.” I told him. “You shouldn’t call the doctor.” he chirped back. “Do you have any idea what they give you?” I was astonished to see he could move his head, even if a bit slowly. “I don’t know.” he confessed. “But ever since they give it to me, I barely feel the excruciating pain when I try to move my neck.” he started to move his head around. “See?” I heard his broken bones cracking, and felt my lunch coming back. “John, I think you really should stop that, if you ever want to stand up from that wheelchair.” I held his hand. He looked down at it, and back to me. I could barely see his irises. “But I’m bored. I had enough of laying idle.” he whined like a child. “You need to. To heal.” He looked at me with that blank stare only he could make. “Blah, blah.” he said. “I feel perfectly fine.” I sighed. “Only because you are drugged out of your mind. Your bones are still broken, you can’t stand up…and you shouldn’t!” I added when I saw him try. “You’re mean…” he smiled and chuckled. “I like you when you’re mean…” I realised I’m still holding his hand. Also that he doesn’t feel it. I held it a little bit tighter. “John, please promise me to stop being a reckless idiot.” He stared at me for a while then said “Because you care about me?” I nodded. He blinked. “Love is such a stupid thing.” he mused. “And it doesn’t even exist, how can people believe in it that much? But if I think about it, people also believe in religion, so…” he tried to shrug, then furrowed his brow when he was unable to. “Why can’t I move?” he asked. I just shook my head. The drugs the doctors gave him messed with his brain. A lot. As I later learned from the nurse, it was a powerful painkiller, but had some side-effects. Kind of like morphine. It was also highly addictive. I told them John was a drug addict, and threatened them with a lawsuit if there will be any kind of lasting negative effects of the medication on his health. I didn’t know what else could I do.

It was madness. Another two months later, in a sunny early September day, I had to take him home from hospital. It never occurred to me until then, to tell him that I practically moved in with him. Luckily the doctor advised me to have someone to take care of John, so I could act like I was just arranging and moving in recently. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” John protested. I knew he’s just making a fuss because he hated to be seen as weak. And knew well that he needs additional months until he could stand up and walk again. He changed the wheelchair to a pair of crutches, but he still couldn’t walk a long distance. He still had pains, and some sort of migraine he started to feel recently and had me worried. But doctors found no tumour or anything like that. They said it must be a side-effect of his medication. He was sedated while I drove us to his apartment, to avoid his demons rising from the depths of his mind, and slept for more than a day after I helped him lie down. I moved back to the sofa, and the cat no longer bothered me. I saw it multiple times curling up next to John, and making that purring sound. If he was conscious, he’d even smile and pet the cat as much as his still injured hands would allow. His movement was slow and clumsy, but after that one and a half day he spent sleeping, I couldn’t keep him in his bed. I found him dragging himself to the kitchen, to the balcony, to the corridor to get the mail, and grew tired of playing tag with him pretty quickly. He also nagged me constantly to let him go back to work, which I refused. “You’re still injured.” I told him again that day, for the millionth time. “No matter if the casts are gone, your bones are still broken and barely healed. Just stop being so reckless!” He was ignoring the hell out of me. Like always. We had a fight. We ended up fighting every time I told him something. I managed to issue some projects to him, that he could work on remotely. It seemed to ease his tension and anger a bit, but I found myself moving back to my own place. What was I thinking? It seemed that my mind had some sugar-coated dream of that man which reality begged to differ.

 He took more pills a day than which was prescribed. He was irritable and irrational. He was also annoyingly depressive and negative if he couldn’t have his fix. Every time I tried to explain to him that I’m trying to help him, and that he can count on me as a friend, he replied with “a friend is just an enemy who haven’t stab you in the back yet”, and similar nonsense. He was working too much. I walked in on him having one of those headaches, and called the doctor immediately. Half of John’s face was twitching and he was whining in agony. Then as suddenly as it came, it was over. The paramedic gave him a shot of the same powerful medicine he got in the hospital, and left us. I sighed, sat down next to him and said “Listen, this can’t go on anymore. Get an appointment to Dr Mabbs.” John shook his head. “I can’t.” I was about to hit him for being such a stubborn idiot, but he carried on. “I have troubles with my insurance and the cost of my treatment.” I shook my head this time. “Then I will make an appointment for you. Dr Mabbs is a friend of mine, and I think I can ask a favour for you.” He hated the thought of it, I could clearly see it on his face. But he nodded. “Thank you.” he breathed. Whatever was the problem, it seemed it was serious enough to have John worried. He was taking more and more pills.

With October knocking on our door, he was able to walk on his own. He could go back to work, and I could move back to my own house. We were talking about it one night, sitting on the sofa next to each other. “How did you manage to get away with moving in with me and not having all the nasty rumours spread?” he asked me. I just smiled. “I didn’t tell anyone. I always arrived in time, and nobody had to know that I come here after work. Besides, the last time I checked, our corporation doesn’t have objections to romantic involvement between co-workers.” He smiled. “How’s the trial going?” he asked, to detour the conversation. We haven’t really discussed our relationship ever since we broke up in April. We didn’t even sleep together in any sense ever since. And every time I wanted to talk about us, John came up with something else. “So the trial began around August, but it got delayed after one session.” he raised his brow “How so? Woodhull didn’t show up?” I shook my head. “No, he did show up, it got delayed because witnesses started to disappear or change testimony. You are the only one so far, who can still provide some solid evidence.” “Fair enough.” John replied. “When’s the next session?” I took my calendar, and looked for the date. “Umm, a week after today. You’ll be ready to go to the trial then?” I asked, still worried for his health which he seemed to disregard just as much as he did before his accident. “John, you don’t have to.” His features hardened. “But I want to.” We were silent for a while then he spoke again. “So we’re still involved…romantically?” I looked up from my phone, and saw him looking at me questioningly. “It’s funny, because last time I checked, you told me that I’m a mad dog that needs to be put down. That we can’t go on pretending that there’s something between us, that never been.” his voice was just as icy as his gaze. “I think I told you that I’m sorry.” I defended. But he wasn’t going to give it up. “And I told you that I don’t believe you. You meant it.” he turned his face away from mine, and stood up. “I have no clue about what made you change your mind.” I don’t know what drove me to spring up and hold his waist, turning him to face me. “I thought were through with this.” I told him. “What do you want from me?” he asked. “I realised something the day you came over and we broke up.” I carried on. “I may be mad at you. I may question your sincerity on matters sometimes. But there is one thing that haven’t change, and will not change in the future.” I saw him grimacing. “You love me.” He said on a mocking tone. “I thought I will lose you.” I said, pulling him closer. “You can’t lose what’s not yours to begin with.” I heard his high-pitched, faux-cheerful voice with that underlining threat.

* * *

Author's Note:

Probably not many of you out there know it, but here in the EU, the parliament is about to change copyright law, which can lead to internet users getting blocked from sites like AO3, or even get fined for using memes or doing fanart or fanfiction or even sharing links. However, we, the people still can help prevent it. (There is a much more sophisticated and detailed announcement about the matter here: [Important](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11183556/chapters/34995488)  and also by AO3's admins here: <https://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/10706?show>)

You can also sign a petiton here:

[https://www.change.org/p/european-parliament-stop-the-censorship-machinery-save-the-internet?utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=copylink&utm_campaign=share_petition](https://www.change.org/p/european-parliament-stop-the-censorship-machinery-save-the-internet?utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=copylink&utm_campaign=share_petition)

Every signature counts! Time is running out!

If this bill becomes law, me and all of my fellow EU resident members may be blocked from the site, so that means no more content from us. No comments, no new updates or new stories. I know what you're thinking. That they can't make this pack of nonsense law, they have tried it before and failed. Yet they are here, trying again, and this time with less media coverage, so people don't even know about it! And you can't protest what you don't know, aren't you? What if the law passes because of people waving their hands and saying "Nah, they could never make it law"? Get your head out from the sand folks, it won't do you no good. Signing a petition or contacting your MEP may not be a big thing, but it might help prevent this pack of nonsense to become law, and give us time for another few years until some ~~idiot~~ copyright-concerned politician tries to pull this stuff again. Let's remind them not to mess with us, not in the EU, not in the US, not anywhere all over the world!

I'm also in the process of gathering addresses of people who would like to read my fanfics (My original stuff will still be available on Deviantart or on my personal blogs), which I will probably distribute via e-mail. So in case this horrible thing passes and becomes law, and you want to know how this story ends, or want to see new ones, drop me a comment or an e-mail on the address displayed on my profile! But let's hope we can stop this madness before it's too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading, and for the continous support, I love you all!
> 
> Notes:  
> \- Song Simcoe sings in the hospital is "Blood" by My Chemical Romance.
> 
> \- I don't know about animal hotels being a thing anywhere else, but here they are expensive af. :/ They should provide care for your pet for a limited time (like if you go on a holiday and can't bring the cat/dog along) for a price, because not many hotels are pet-friendly. (Those of which are, are focusing on dogs but have no rules for cats, or don't accept them at all.) In case you wonder, I had troubles going on a vacation once, because I couldn't bring my cat along and had nobody to take care for her.
> 
> So, I don't know when/if I return with John's chapter, but you guys still mean the world for me! Please know that, in case I will not be able to share my silly little stories and eyebleed-inducing art(?!)work with you anymore. <3


	19. Relapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's recovery after the accident, and his revelation of a reoccuring problem, which - along with his usual antics - get him fired from Howe & Co.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the ugly long delay again! My classes have started on the 18th, and I have literally no energy left at the end of the day when I could sit down and write. (I know, I know. Screw excuses.) Speaking of which, I have to express that I hit rock bottom again with writing next to having no time, so it is quite possible that it will take even longer to update, than it already did. I will not say I'll quit though, because you know how annoying that can be. 
> 
> The ever present disclaimer:  
> I by no means wish to condone or promote or romanticise drug-abuse or addiction of any kind. That is a serious issue, and requires a lot of patience and understanding from the addicted's loved ones or general environment if they ever want to help them. 
> 
> Also, the chapter contains elements that some of you might find triggering, but as I said somewhere in an earlier chapter, I cannot know everyone's chlidhood trauma or secret fear, so there is a huge chance for you to run into it somewhere along these lines. You have been warned, so don't come and complain in the comment section! Thank you!

I barely remember anything from my time in the hospital. It all seems like a rather unsettling and trippy dream I had. The doctors gave me medication to help heal my bones and painkillers that had a strange side-effect of making me hallucinate or just feel funny. In a sense that everything was so clear, and colours distorted into patterns that sometimes hid ghosts in them. My parents, faceless and near-forgotten. My brother, standing at the edge of my bed, where I could only see him from the corner of my eye. My Uncle Sam on a ship that crashed into the ceiling. Edmund on a white horse, dressed as a conquistador. Things weren’t much better when I was actually sleeping, because I saw the ghosts from the past more vividly, and things were much more coherent. I saw auntie Maggie with her scornful expression staring at me from across the room. I heard her voice scolding me “It is all in your head, Johnny. Better be a man about it, and stop this nonsense. Get up from that bed and do something with your life!” I wanted to. Get up. Sadly, I was unable to, because of the fractures in my pelvic bone and both of my legs. As much as I was informed the cracks in my spine and head were on the mend, yet I felt them gaping larger than they were when they brought me in. “it’s all in your head.” Auntie Maggie repeated, then turned into another form, someone from my past I buried so deep I forgot how he looked like. The faceless effigy of a man I once knew and aspired to be like roared at me to stand up, to fight, and stop acting like something was wrong, when clearly there wasn’t. I tried to tell them that I can’t get up. That my legs are broken. “It’s all in your head. Get over it!” I heard Margaret again. “Stop being so weak and whiny, John!” The ghost of my mother told me. “Girls don’t like men who are weak and can’t stand on their own.” I woke up, but the ghosts were there. They didn’t leave me no matter how much I wanted them to. And I kept hearing them telling me that my problems are only in my head. That they don’t even exist. I’m just lazy, and looking for an excuse to stay in bed. Then the effect of the painkiller went away, and I was finally able to shout at them, to chase them away with a scream painful enough to alert the nurses and the doctors. I couldn’t really do anything else but screaming for a while.

My head became clear after what seemed like an eternity. The drug-induced haze gave way to boredom and itching, which was worse than the pain. That I could take, but you can’t really scratch your bones… I had visitors sometimes, once Abigail, then Akinbode and occasionally Edmund. Or at least the nurses told me he was visiting me every now and then while I was asleep. I asked him to take care of Mercy as soon as I was able to think more or less logically. I didn’t even know how much time had passed since my accident. She could be dead. Starved to death, or dehydrated, leaving my place in ruins… Losing that damn cat would make an impact on my already deteriorating psyche, so I didn’t really care if my request towards a superior was inappropriate or not. I needed to know if the only being in this world I truly trusted is alive and well. To my surprise, Hewlett returned with positive news concerning my cat and the integrity of my home. I knew I will have to pay a price for my request, but be it anything, I was willing to pay. To my great frustration, Oyster responded with “I did it because we’re friends” when I was asking about what he needs of me in return. I gave an irritated sigh. A “friend” is only an enemy who didn’t stab you in the back yet. “I can’t go to the grocery store and buy bread by saying “we’re friends” to the cashier, so speak up!” I told him. Edmund shook his head and told me he will come up with something later. All right then. My idle and infuriatingly boring days passed, and my pains returned, to which I got some medication. I felt better, as long as its effects lasted. I wanted to leave this place. To be able to stand on my own, to no longer be dependent on nurses and doctors and “friends”.

That happy day arrived months later, in September. I spent the whole summer in a hospital room, and nearing the end of my stay, in physiotherapy, learning to walk again. My spine and my lower limbs still hurt like hell from time to time, and my head also started to have bouts of sudden, sharp pains and migraines. I got prescripted medicine, which I consumed in a generous manner. I needed it after all. I couldn’t afford to spend more time lying around, so I had to get moving. I had some troubles with my crutches, but fortunately my flat was small enough to let me go about my business. If only the newest addition to my household would let me be… “Just stop being so reckless!” No need to shout Ed, I ignored you just fine for the first time. Same as I ignored the roaring pain in my barely healed bones. I had to learn to walk again on my own, and I didn’t want to waste any more time sitting or lying idly than it was necessary. Almost four months passed since my accident, and my insurance had me in trouble with hospital charges. Long story short: I was in deep doo doo. If I’m unable to pay my debt, the company will sue me, and probably take every and all valuable property of mine, which I wanted to evade. So I had to get on my feet and work. And as much as I found Edmund’s patronizing cute, I equally found it annoying. Sure, I was in a lot of pain, but I got used to it. I had to if I ever wanted to feel like a decent human being. Most of the time I was feeling like a wreck, unable to move on my own, weak and useless. I hated it. Ed arranged an agreement with the company for me, so I could work from home until I am able to walk, so that eased my rage and bitterness about my situation. He moved in with me, despite my utter disagreement with it. Eventually, I grudgingly acknowledged that it wasn’t such a bad idea. He helped me if I needed it, and slowly I could take a few steps on my own. Going to the bathroom was something I managed, though with the speed and accuracy of a slightly drunk snail.

Those damn headaches kept on giving me hell. I tried to ignore them as long as it was possible, but after one particularly intense bout of roaring agony that made half of my face twitch, I accepted Ed’s request at seeing a doctor about it. His own doctor on top of that. Favours started to stack up on one another. I grew nervous waiting on Edmund to collect. Some other time later – I lost track of the days between coding and consuming pills – I visited Dr Mabbs. He ran tests, drew blood, read my hospital report and generally did his magic I was not interested in. The end result however was something I didn’t expect. Nerve damage. Two words that made me feel slightly worried. I wanted to ask the doctor what that meant, but found myself to be unable to speak the words. “Do you experience strong sudden headaches, or anything like that?” I nodded. I still couldn’t find the will to speak. But I had to be specific, so I forced myself to swallow my pride, and tell him about the short, but intense bouts of pain in my head and around my left ear, which grew in frequency, along with the uncontrollable shaking of my hand. “That may be neuralgia.” he told me. Umm, good? Or bad? What should I do with that? Lucky for me, it turned out that it can be treated with medication, so all I had to do was take another kind of pill along with my anti-depressants and painkillers. I wasn’t happy about it. Yet, it could be worse. It could be that I could no longer function like I did before. The shaking of my hand will stay, the doctor told me, only if for a few months. He advised me to rest and to let myself heal, and all that blahblah. I couldn’t permit myself to do that just now. I had to get back to work, to catch Woodhull and his merry company before they bring down the empire, which is the corporation I was working for.

It all went by so quickly. Months I have spent at home, healing, taking pills and writing codes, ignoring Ed and the headaches. Soon it was spring again, with blossoms on the trees, sunshine and all that cheesy stuff that commercials shove down at your throat as being desirable. I only loved the warmer weather, because my bones stopped aching. Also lesser threat of catching a cold, which I was prone to. I got my bike fixed, got my test-runs with it, got it fixed again with someone else, and finally could ride my way back to office every morning! Oh, the joy.

I found a mountain of software issues and other sort of work waiting for me, and knew immediately that I will clash with Edmund’s newbies. It didn’t take me a full day before confronting one of them with a short and firm assessment of his incompetence, then I heard the next morning that he quit without even telling Hewlett about it. Him and the remaining two of his new goons were reading an e-mail, something of a note about the bloke’s departure from our esteemed company. “None of you noticed him last night, as he empties his drawers, takes his belongings and papers from HR then leaves for good, while sitting only steps away?” he asked. I took a sip from my coffee mug. “A dark night brings dark thoughts.” I inserted. “It seemed to me that he was one of those melancholic types.” Hewlett turned towards me. “Why am I not surprised to see that you have to do something with this?” he asked on a dry tone. I looked at him with my best faux-innocent face. “Me? How dare you? I was working last night on the very project you assigned me to. I didn’t even speak to the guy.” That wasn’t true, but hey. He didn’t have to know that. One down, two to go.

It took me two months. I dealt-and-wheeled myself until I managed to get rid of the remaining two replacements Hewlett hired in my place. In the meantime, I fixed the firewall, got an appointment with another doctor, got harassed by lawpeople because of the upcoming trial of that weasel Woodhull – I was particularly happy about that – and found myself taking even more pills than before. I felt much better when I was on them, like, the shaking of my hand disappeared along with my headaches and sudden short bouts of intense pains in my legs or back. It was once again the same when I was 18, but I had no way of knowing yet. The difference was that this time I was the one governing my dosage… Or more in control of it. I was a frequent guest at the local pharmacy, getting my prescriptions and leaving, only to go back to work and continue where I left off.

There still was an issue with the aftermath of Hewlett’s stillborn plan as to make me a scapegoat, and let Woodhull do his dirty tricks. The higher-ups still believed that I was the corporate spy, and had my access limited, and frankly I was wondering how come I’m not behind bars yet. I told so on one of the meetings all IT personnel had to attend, and got some dirty looks from many of the bigheads. I proceeded to clear my name, but so far, only one of the executives was willing to hear me out. I told him about Hewlett, the plan, and that I’m still out to get Woodhull’s accomplice. It only occurred to me that it easily could be him after the door closed behind me. I was lucky though. Clinton had nothing to do with the corporate spy ring.

But that didn’t save me from the even bigger effect this whole ruse had on my person. For the last four years of my life, in which I was working for Howe & Co., I tried to avoid to poke at the execs, or picked one who wasn’t in favour. Contrary to popular belief, I always knew who not to mess with. That is why Hewlett’s news and general moody behaviour had me thinking. It was after a big corporate meeting, only executives and senior clerks were invited. There was a rumour going on around our circle that some major changes will occur rather sooner than later. I had a bad feeling when I saw Hewlett as he stopped next to my desk, and looked at me. I was standing next to the chassis of a dead computer, salvaging what parts I could to fix another one. "Whoa there, Eddie!" I exclaimed, seeing his expression. "Who peed in your cereal, because I swear that this time it wasn't me." Really. Now that I think about it, it was curious. "This time." he said aridly. "But not the countless times before, isn't it?" I had a creeping suspicion that somebody indeed took a piss into someone's cereal, but as Edmund kept talking, I realised that the soiled cereal in question was mine. "Cooke wants you out. You're fired, and may empty your desk and leave today." He said. I felt the good old rage building up, but was holding on for the moment. "So you just let me down." I managed to say without a trace of the storm that was about to break out. "You did it." he answered. "You just destroyed yourself, as you always do. My help wasn't necessary." His tone softened, and with that, my anger got to new levels. "I'm sorry, John." he apologised, patting my shoulder. That made me feel the urge to return the gesture with a chair to his face. "We'll find a way. Seek a new place for you, where they can't intervene." I was proud of the cutting edge of the smile I made for days to come. "Don't worry about me, Ed." I said, faux-cheerful and lilted as ever. "I'll get by. I always do." I left the office without another word.

I threw a chair at the wall. Then I recollected the remains and threw it again. After I was done with it, I started to pack my belongings. The damned pill bottle got in my hand again. I took three and helped it down with a shot of whatever alcoholic beverage I had at home. With my job gone, I wouldn’t be able to pay the rent for the flat I lived in, so I had to find a sublet or another, considerably smaller apartment for rent. I looked to my left, and cast a sad glance at Mercy. That probably means she’ll need another home. Landlords rarely let pets in, and if they did, they demanded them to be declawed, muted or otherwise mutilated, which I would never do to the only creature I trusted. Why these landlords didn’t ask from families to have their children muted and their fingers cut off, if they were so afraid for the used, old and awful furniture in the sublet? I found some advertisements I checked in the following days, and also tried to arrange a new home for Mercy. Abigail agreed to take her in, so I went over to her with Mercy’s travel box in my hand. She opened the door, and looked like she saw a ghost, then I just mentioned she said I can trust my cat with her. “Of course, I forgot.” she apologised. “What will you do now?” the question came as a surprise. I was about to turn around and leave, but stopped and shook my head. “I don’t know.” I confessed. “I found a house somewhere in the outskirts of town, maybe I can stay there until I can get a new job. I’ll do some freelance work in the meantime.” Abigail nodded, and said her goodbyes, then closed the door. I could hear Mercy mewling even when I started the engine.

Of course, life just had to throw a whole box of lemons at my general direction. The apartments I checked were either overpriced or run-down and basically nothing like the picture in the ad. I was running out of time. Another corporation rang me and asked if I’m willing to join their ranks, but the salary they offered was hilarious for the amount of work they needed me to do. So I refused. I never was one to sit around idly, so I searched for homes to rent, and freelance job opportunities. I got the latter, but finding a place to stay was harder than I imagined. The only place I found a week before my eviction was with a certain Mr. Appleby. But to make things even harder, it turned out he already rented the house to someone else. But I think that is a whole different story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> \- As far as my limited knowledge go, the real John Graves had neuralgia, only it probably started to plague him in his 40's, because it is usually occurs around that age category. (According to the medical site I was visiting, to gather some knowledge on the matter.) It is indeed treatable in most cases with medication, but can indicate a more serious problem behind it.
> 
> \- I have literally no knowledge on how the healthcare system works. In any country. Including my own. So that part is probably BS. Sorry about that. 
> 
> \- Also as far as my admittedly very limited knowledge about psychology and child governing goes, it is a fact that what we are told in our early life shapes us, even to the extent of defining how we see ourselves, be it true or false. If someone is very fortunate, they can "get over it", and achieve a level of confidence, but sometimes the damage is too big for the person to overcome it on their own, as the case is with John here. Coming from a (not to that extent but still) toxic background, I can assure you of it being true. See it as being a "victim complex"? You may be right, maybe not. However, it is the way I see things, and this is my fic, so that's that.
> 
> \- Machiavellism is partly a sort of "worldview", partly a mindset or "personality disorder", it is part of what psychology calls "the dark triad", right next to psychopathy and narcissistic personality disorder. Ever heard "The end justifies the means"? This sentence is a very "in a nutshell" description of the mindset that was named after the renessaince Italian writer/politician, Niccolo Machiavelli. The disorder itself also consists of a sort of moral relativity, a sort of cynical, suspicious view of others, also complete lack of positive perception related to people. Machiavellists always assume negative things of others, and they never expect them to cooperate. Their point is that if they don't use other people, those other people will use them. They are unable of empathic care, and usually detach themselves from emotional impacts of events. 
> 
> If you see a familiar pattern in the description with a certain ginger bigbird, it is intentional. Though here, John is not unable to be empathic, or to care, he thinks of these things as weaknesses and vulnerabilities because of his upbringing and his time in a criminal gang. He hesitates to believe that other people have good intentions, he is also adept at lying (as we saw in the series) and manipulating others, which are also signs of the Machiavellian mindset. I read some articles, where showrunners called Simcoe a "psychopath" or "sociopath", but I'd rather go with him being a Machiavellist. If you are interested in psychology, do a little dig, but I think this disorder is the one that fits him the most, either in this fic's universe, or the TV show's. With that being said, I'm sorry, but the negative worldview is here to stay, no matter how annoying of frustrating it might be. He will "thaw", or dilute this black ink that is his soul, but I just can't see him being your average "nice guy". (Even if he was a pretty nice person in real life. After all, this version of him is somewhat based on the raging psycho we saw in the series). Also mental disorders do not disappear because the person suffering from them found his "twue wuw" and leads a somewhat happier life than he did before. Sorry for the psychology lesson, I also know that I'm not an expert in the field, so probably half of what I said is BS. 
> 
> I guess this was the longest note I ever wrote under a chapter, and I never intend to do it again. :'D
> 
> When will I update again (or better, will I ever update this fic again)? Good question. Right now my plate is full with school projects and practice lessons, so until I'm done with them for good, (in October 11th, this year) I really can't promise any updates. So please don't assume I'm dead, I'll just stop posting these unoriginal crapheaps people somehow got interested in. (I also have a piece of original fiction waiting in line for me to post it, but I guess it has to wait as well.)   
> Sorry for the rant, and thank you if you suffered through it along with the chapter. I'll may be back in October with a new chapter, and will lurk around and read what stuff you guys post in my - scarce - free time. Bye!


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